University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Purchased  from  the 
MICHAEL  REESE  BEQUEST 


MAGNOLIA  LEAVES. 


POEMS 


BY 


MARY  V/ESTON  FORDHAM, 


WITH   INTRODUCTORY 


BY 


BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON, 


PRIN.   TUSKEGEE  INSTITUTE, 


TUSKEGEE,   ALA, 


COPYRIGHT, 
DECEMBER  IOTH,  1897. 


0V 

8i  COGSWtU.  CO 
.  S.    C. 


HOME  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


I  give  my  cordial  endorsement  to  this  little  ' '  Book 
of  Poems, ' '  because  I  believe  it  will  do  its  part  to 
awaken  the  Muse  of  Poetry  which  I  am  sure  slumbers 
in  very  many  of  the  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Race 
of  which  the  Author  of  this  work  is  a  representative. 

The  Negro's  right  to  be  considered  worthy  of 
recognition  in  the  field  of  poetic  effort  is  not  now 
gainsaid  as  formerly,  and  each  succeeding  effort  but 
emphasizes  his  right  to  just  consideration. 

The  hope,  I  have,  is,  that  this  Volume  of  ''Poems" 
may  fall  among  the  critical  and  intelligent,  who  will- 
accord  the  just  meed  of  praise  or  of  censure,  to  the 
end  that  further  effort  may  be  stimulated,  no  matter 
what  the  verdict. 

The  readers  I  trust  will  find  as  much  to  praise  and 
admire  as  have  I  done. 

BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON, 
Prin.  Tuskegee  Normal  and  Industrial  Institute^ 

Tuskegee,  Ala.,  December  6th,  1897. 


PKEFACE. 


This  little  volume  is  launched  on  the  doubtful  sea 
of  literature  with  the  hope  that  the  breezes  of  public 
opinion  may  give  an  impetus  to  its  voyage.  I  hope 
that  it  will  be  kindly  received  as  simply  the  harbinger 
of  what  may  be  expected  from  the  generations  to 
come;  and  shall  consider  its  mission  as  being  fulfilled 
if  it  should  be  the  means  of  arousing  and  stimulating 
some  of  our  youth  to  higher  and  greater  efforts  along 
this  line. 

Commending  it  to  an  intelligent  and  impartial  crit- 
icism, 

I  am,  respectfully, 

THE  AUTHOK. 


DEDICATION 

TO 
MRS.  S.  S.  FORBES, 

OF 

MASSACHUSETTS, 

AND 
Miss  FLORIDE  CUNNINGHAM, 

OF 

SOUTH  CAROLINA, 

THESE  "LEAVES" 

ARE  RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

BY  THE* AUTHOR. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Creation 14 

Shipwreck 16 

The  Washerwoman    17 

The  Snow  Drop 19 

The  Saxon  Legend  of  Language 20 

The  Christ  Child 22 

Bells  of  St.  Michael 23 

The  Exile's  Reverie 25 

The  Snow  Storm 27 

Maiden  and  River 28 

Chicago  Exposition  Ode 30 

Atlanta  Exposition  Ode 32 

Stars  and  Stripes 34 

To  the  Eagle 35 

The  Crucifixion 3(> 

IT  ramie 37 

Magnolia 44 

To  my  Mother 47 

"Nestle  Down"  Cottage 48 

Mother's  Recall 49 

To  Right  Rev.  D.  A.  Payne 51 

October.  .  .52 


10  TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 

t  PAGE. 

The  Dying  Girl 53 

Alaska 55 

Parting  with  a  Friend 57 

Twilight  Musings 58 

Song  to  Erin 59 

The  Valentine 60 

Lines  to  Florence 61 

By  the  Rivers  of  Babylon 63 

The  Pen 63 

Passing  of  the  Old  Year 65 

Sonnet  to  my  First  born 67 

Lines  to  -  -    68 

Highland  Mary 69 

The  Cherokee .    70 

Rally  Song 72 

Serenade 73 

The  Coming  Woman 74 

Ode  to  Peace 75 

A  Reverie 77 

Sunset 78 

The  Past 79 

Marriage 80 

For  Who  ? 80 

June 81 

Tribute  to  Lost  Steamer 83 

A  Requiem 84 

The  Grafted  Bud  .  .    85 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS.  11 

PAGE. 

To  a  Loved  One 86 

The  Nativity 87 

The  Mock-Bird. 88 

IN   MEMORIAM. 

Kevd.  Samuel  Weston 91 

Kevd.  Thaddeus  Saltus 92 

Tribute  to  Capt.  F.  W.   Dawson 93 

Mrs.  Louise  B.  Weston 94 

Mrs.  Isabel  Peace 95 

Alphonse  C.  Fordham 96 

Mr.  Edward  Fordham 97 

Mrs.,  Jeimette  Boimeau 98 

Queenie 99 

To  an  Infant 99 

Susan  Eugenia  Bennett 100 

Mrs.  Eebecca  Weston 101 

Mrs.  E.  Cohrs  Brown 102 

Mrs.  Mary  Furnian  Byrd 102 


CREATION 

"The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  and  the  firmament 
showeth  his  handy  work. ' ? 

O    Earth,  adore  creative  power, 
That  made  and  gave  to  man  as  dower, 

This  world  of  beauty  rare, 
With  hills  and  vales  of  verdant  green, 
With  rills  and  brooks  of  crystal  sheen, 

Lovely  beyond  compare. 

O    Sun,  bright  ruler  of  the  day, 

When  first  thy  power  thou  did'st  display, 

Earth  must  have  shrunk  in  fear, 
When  like  a  meteor  burst  thy  light, 
Turning  to  day  the  long,  long  night, 

With  radiance  wondrous  fair. 

Thou  Moon,  pale  sister  of  the  Sun, 
When  he  his  daily  work  has  done, 

Thou  comest  forth  a  queen; 
A  queen  in  sil\7ery  robe  adorned, 
With  tiara  of  jewels  formed, 

Of  starry  orbs  unseen. 


14  CREATION. 

Ye  twinkling  stars  of  milder  light, 
Though  now  ye  gleam  like  sapphires  bright, 

Across  yon  azure  dome, 
The  day  will  dawn,  that  last  dread  day, 
When  from  yon  heaven  you'll  fall  away, 

And  man  to  Judgment  come. 

Thunder  and  Lightnings  burst  and  gleam, 
Frightful  and  fierce  to  us  they  seem 

Rending  the  darkened  sky. 
Like  giants  tread  the  thunder's  peal, 
The  vivid  lightnings  swiftly  steal, 

And  men  in  terror  fly. 

()    filmy  clouds,  of  purest  wrhite, 
With  robes  of  gossamer  cased  in  white, 

Ye  floating  waters  pure, 
Sometimes  to  burst  in  cooling  showers, 
Sometimes  to  deluge  wintry  hoitrs 

With  your  relentless  pour: 

Thou  beauteous  Rainbow  bursting  forth, 
With  varied  hues  encircling  earth; 

The  sign  to  Noah  made. 
"I  place  amid  the  Clouds  my  Bow" 
To  show  that  I  will  nevermore 

Deluge  with  angry  flood. 

Mountains  and  Hills  whose  snow  capped  tops 
The  vast  horizon  overlooks, 


CREATION.  15 

Pyramids  strong  and  sure; 
Nor  lightnings  fierce  nor  earthquake  shock 
Can  ever  sway,  for  firm  as  rock 

Ye  ever  will  endure. 

Thou  Ocean  vast,  oftimes  thy  breast, 
Is  calm  and  still  as  if  at  rest, 

Like  one  in  quiet  sleep; 
But  soon  in  anger  thou  inay'st  roar, 
And  madly  toss  from  shore  to  shore, 

And  human  harvest  reap. 

Fountains  and  Rivulets  so  clear, 
That  gush  amid  the  valleys  fair, 

With  soft  arid  mellow  ring; 
As  coming  forth  from  glade  and  wood 
Your  babblings  whisper  "God  is  good," 

Ye  make  the  vales  to  sing. 

Now  when  all  nature  swTells  the  song, 
When  beast  and  birds  the  strain  prolong, 

Shall  man  from  praise  refrain? 
Then  would  the  rocks  and  hills  proclaim, 
All  nature  crying  out  for  shame, 
They  who  their  Maker's  image  wear, 
Should  shout  and  sing  till  rent  the  air 

With  rhapsodies  sublime. 


16  SHIPWRECK. 


SHIPWRECK. 

Night  and  a  starless  sky, 
Ship  on  wild  billows  tost, 
With  tattered  sails  and  opening  seams. 
And  deck  bestrewn  with  falling  beams. 
Swift  plunging  to  her  doom. 

Red  lightnings  round  her  flash, 
Loud  thunders  crash  and  roar, 
And  the  noble  vessel  mounts  the  crest 
Of  the  reeking  waves,  then  sinks  to  rest 
Mid  carnival  of  woe. 

The  Petrel  soars  aloft, 
Wailing  her  hymn  of  death, 

And  the  dirge  like  sounds  pierce  the  blackened  sky, 
While  the  crew  send  forth  one  anguished  cry, 
Sinking  to  lowest  depth. 

Some  ships  go  out  to  sea 
That  never  more  return, 
Souls  that  from  heaven  in  infancy  come, 
Tarnished  and  ruined  by  sin  may  become, 
Like  the  Dove  to  the  Ark  they  never  return, 
But  sink  as  ship  to  doom. 


THE    WASHERWOMAN.  17 


THE  WASHERWOMAN. 

With  hands  all  reddened  and  sore, 

With  back  and  shoulders  low  bent, 
She  stands  all  day,  and  part  of  the  night 

Till  her  strength  is  well-nigh  spent. 
With  her  rub — rub — rub, 

And  her  wash,  rinse,  shake, 
Till  the  muscles  start  and  the  spirit  sink?, 

And  the  bones  begin  to  ache. 

At  morn  when  the  sunbeams  scatter 

In  rays  so  golden  and  bright, 
She  yearns  for  the  hour  of  even, 

She  longs  for  the  restful  night. 
Still  she  rubs — rubs — rubs, 

With  the  energy  born  of  want, 
For  the  larder's  empty  and  must  be  tilled, 

The  fuel's  growing  scant. 

As  long  as  the  heart  is  blithesome, 

Will  her  spirit  bear  her  up, 
And  kindness  and  love  imparteth  a  zest 

To  sweeten  hard  life's  bitter  cup. 
But  to  toil — toil — toil, 

From  the  grey  of  the  morn  till  eve, 
Is  an  ordeal  so  drear  for  a  human  to  bear, 

Which  the  rich  can  hardly  conceive. 


18  THE    WASHERWOMAN. 

What  part  in  the  world  of  pleasure? 

What  holidays  are  her  own? 
For  the  rich  reck  not  of  privations  and  tears, 

Saying,  ' '  she  is  to  the  inanoi  born . ' ' 
So  dry  those  scalding  tears 

That  furrow  so  deeply  thy  cheek, 
For  rest — rest — rest 

Will  come  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

Yes,  even  on  earth  there's  a  day 

When  labor  and  toil  must  cease, 
The  world  at  its  birth  received  the  mandate 

Of  the  seventh  day  of  rest. 
When  the  sweet- toned  Sabbath  bells 

Break  o'er  the  balmy  air, 
Then  sing — sing — sing 

That  the  morning  stars  may  hear. 

For  the  frugal  table  spread, 

For  the  crust  and  the  humble  bed, 
When  He  to  whom  all  earth  belongs 

Had  not  where  to  lay  His  head, 
Then  toil  for  thy  daily  bread, 

Let  thy  heart  like  thy  hands  be  clean, 
And  rub — rub — rub 

Till  thy  bones  all  ache,  I  ween. 

With  hands  all  reddened  and  sore, 
With  back  and  shoulders  bent  low, 

Thou  hast  for  thy  comfort  that  rest,  sweet  rest, 
Will  be  found  on  the  other  shore. 


THE    SNOWDROP.  19 

Then  they  who've  washed  their  souls 

Will  dip  in  the  crystal  tide 
Of  the  fountain  clear  that  was  oped  to  man 

From  the  Saviour's  wounded  side. 


THE  SNOWDROP. 

How  comest  thou,  O  flower  so  fair, 
To  bud  and  bloom  while  wintry  air 
Still  hovers  o'er  the  land  ? 

How  comest  from  the  cold,  dark  earth? 
That  fostered  thee  and  gave  thee  birth, 
Studding  thy  brow  with  snow. 

Say,  didst  thou  yearn  for  sunny  bowers  ? 
To  gladden  with  thy  pure,  pale  flowers, 
The  valley  and  the  hill  ? 

Down  in  the  darkness  whence  thou  came, 
Hear'st  aught  of  passion,  fashion,  fame, 
Or  even  greed  for  gold  ? 

And  when  the  old  earth's  bosom  heaves, 
And  scatters  man  like  autumn's  leaves, 
With  its  low  thundered  voice, 

Thou  sleep' st  serene  with  eyelids  closed, 
No  earthquake  shock  breaks  thy  repose, 
Till  comes  the  breath  of  Spring. 


>  THE    SAXON    LEGEND    OF    LANGUAGE. 

THE  SAXON  LEGEND  OF  LANGUAGE. 

The  earth  was  young,  the  world  was  fair, 
And  balmy  breezes  filled  the  air, 
Nature  reposed  in  solitude, 
When  God  pronounced  it  "very  good." 

The  snow-capped  mountain  reared  its  head, 
The  deep,  dark  forests  widely  spread, 
O'er  pebbly  shores  the  stream  did  play 
On  glad  creation's  natal  day. 

But  silence  reigned,  nor  beast  nor  bird 
Had  from  its  mate  a  whisper  heard, 
E'en  man,  God's  image  from  above, 
Could  not,  to  Eve,  tell  of  his  love. 

Where  the  four  rivers  met  there  strayed 
The  man  and  wife,  no  whit  afraid, 
For  the  arch-fiend  expelled  from  heaven 
Had  not  yet  found  his  way  to  Eden. 

But  lo!   a  light  from  'mid  the  tree?, 
But  hark!   a  rustling  'mongst  the  leaves, 
Then  a  fair  Angel  from  above, 
Descending,  sang  his  song  of  love. 

Forth  sprang  the  fierce  beasts  from  their  lair, 
Bright  feathered  songsters  fill  the  air, 
All  nature  stirred  to  centre  rang 
When  the  celestial  song  began. 


THE  SAXON  LEGEND  OF  LANGUAGE.         2) 

The  Lion,  monarch  of  the  plain, 
First  tried  to  imitate  the  strain, 
And  shaking  high  his  inane  lie  roared, 
Till  beast  and  bird  around  him  cowered. 

The  little  Linnet  timed  her  lay, 
The  Lark,  in  turn,  did  welcome  day, 
And  cooing  soft,  the  timid  Dove 
Did  to  his  mate  tell  of  his  .love. 

Then  Eve,  the  synonym  of  grace, 
Drew  nearer  to  the  solemn  place, 
And  heard  the  words  to  music  set 
In  tones  so  sweet,  she  ne'er  forgot. 

The  anthems  from  the  earth  so  rare, 
Higher  and  higher  filled  the  air, 
Till  Seraphs  caught  the  inspiring  strain, 
And  morning  stars  together  sang. 

Then  laggard  Adam  sauntered  near, 
What  Eve  had  heard  he  too  must  hear, 
But  ah!   for  aye  will  woman's  voice 
Make  man  to  sigh  or  him  rejoice. 

Only  the  fishes  in  the  deep 

Did  not  arouse  them  from  their  sleep, 

So  they  alas!  did  never  hear 

Of  the  Angel's  visit  to  this  sphere. 

Nor  have  they  ever  said  one  word 

To  mate  or  man,  or  beast  or  bird. 


22  THE    CHRIST    CHILD. 

THE  CHKIST  CHILD. 

On  a  starry,  wintry  night, 

Frosty  and  cold  was  the  air, 
And  the  lowly  vale  where  Bethlehem  stood, 

Looked  bleak,  and  barren  and  bare. 

Her  streets  deserted  and  dim, 

Lit  only  by  myriads  of  stars. 
That  with  shimm'ring  light  illumined  the  night, - 

Among  them  was  fiery  Mars. 

Adown  'mid  the  valley  so  drear 

Knelt  men,  in  wonder  and  fear, 
For  lo !  in  the  distance  a  bright  star  had  risen 

Wondrously  brilliant  and  clear. 

Then  an  Angel's  voice  they  heard 

In  heavenly  tones  it  said, 
To  you  I  bring  ''glad  tidings  of  joy," 

"Fear  not  nor  be  dismayed.1' 

Go  follow  that  star,  'twill  lead 

To  the  Christ-child's  lowly  bed, 
Though  Israel's  King,  He  sleeps  in  an  "inn" 

Where  the  cattle  oft  are  fed. 

Then  over  the  humble  place 

Where  the  Royal  Babe  was  laid, 
Did  the  ' '  Star  of  the  East, ' '  blest  Bethlehem's  star, 

Irradiate  no  more  to  fade. 


BKLLS    OF    ST.    MICHAEL.  23 

()!   brightest  and  best  they  cried, 

Our  long  promised  Israel's  King, 
Shine  out  from  afar,  thou  bright  morning  star, 

To  thee  our  offerings  we  bring. 

Bethlehem!  blest  city  of  old 

Like  pilgrims  to  Mecca  we  come, 
To  thy  hallowed  site,  on  each  Christmas  night, 

The  Christ-child's  humble  home. 


BELLS  OF  ST.  MICHAEL. 

Come  and  listen  to  the  chiming 

Of  St.  Michael's  merry  bells, 
When  the  joyous  Christmas  morning, 

All  of  Bethlehem's  story  tells. 
When  they  sweetly  chime  the  anthem 

"Glory  to  be  to  God  oti  high," 
When  the  children  swell  the  chorus, 

Earth  to  heaven  seems  very  nigh. 

On  the  gladsome  Easter  morning, 

When  the  earliest  flow'rets  bloom, 
Snowdrops  pure  and  violets  purple 

Blend  to  scatter  sweet  perfume; 
Then  your  happiest  notes  are  poured  forth, 

Then  your  Jubilee  is  heard, 
Pealing  out  in  joyful  accents. 

Chiming,  l'God  is  very  good." 


24  BELLS    OF    ST.    MICHAEL. 

From  that  ancient  lofty  turret, 

O'erlooking  land  and  sea, 
Peals  of  comfort  have  been  wafted, 

Sounds  of  gladness  o'er  the  lea. 
Many  a  storm-tost,  weary  wanderer 

Looked  to  thee  as  hope's  bright  star, 
Listened  to  thy  mellow  chiming, 

Smiling  as  he  crossed  the  bar. 

Ah!   old  bells,  beneath  your  tolling, 

Many  a  form  lies  buried  low, 
'Neath  the  green-sward  of  "God's  Acre,' 

Rest  they,  all  their  sorrows  o'er. 
Softly  wave  the  bending  willows, 

Sweetly  sing  the  birds  their  lays, 
Whilst  thy  dear  old  bells  are  clanging, 

They  are  singing  hymns  of  praise. 

Dear  old  bells  your  music  thrills  me, 

Whether  rung  in  joy  or  woe, 
-  They  recall  the  joyous  spring  time 

Of  fond  mem'ry's  'klong  ago." 
Sweetly  chime  through  all  the  ages; 

As  time's  cycles  swiftly  move; 
Peal  forth  loudly,  God  is  gracious; 

Whisper  softly,  He  is  love. 


25 


THE  EXILE'S  EEVERIE. 

'Twas  sunset's  hour,  tlie  glorious  day 
Had  in  its  beauty  passed  away; 

The  sun  had  bathed  in  golden  dyes 
This  Southern  land  of  sunny  skies; 
And  crimson  clouds,  like  birds  of  wing, 
Did  o'er  the  earth  their  radiance  fling; 
While  zephyrs  sang  amid  the  trees, 
And  song-birds  warbled  to  the  breeze; 
For  Spring,  just  bursting  into  birth, 
Had  come  once  more  to  gladden  earth. 

Near  Pensacola's  margin,  lay, 
Laved  by  its  never  ceasing  spray, 
The  exile,  from  his  native  land 
The  dweller  on  a  foreign  strand. 
And  as  he  lay  kind  thoughts  of  home 
Like  visions  of  the  past  did  come; 
And  mem'ry's  mirror  pictured  clear 
The  starlight  of  his  boyhood  there; 
The  hopes  that  clustered  round  his  brow, 
The  shrine  at  w^hich  he  loved  to  bow. 

He  mused  aloud,  Oh!   Italy! 

Land  of  the  chivalric,  the  free! 

Bruce  may  of  Scotland  tune  his  lyre, 
But  thee  alone,  can'st  me  inspire. 


Birthplace  of  beauty!   never  more 

Shall  I  behold  thy  vine-clad  shore; 

The  sward  where  I  in  childhood  play'd— 
The  haunts  deep  in  the  forest  shade — 

The  place  where,  mould' ring  in  decay. 

The  ashes  of  a  sire  lay. 

Why  did  1  leave  thee?     As  spring  flowers 
Return  no  more  through  summer  hours 
When  once  they  blossom,  bear  and  die, 
No  more  will  bloom  neath  sultry  sky; 
So  heart  of  man  when  hopes  have  fled, 
And  love  lies  buried  with  the  dead, 
No  second  spring  time  sends  one  ray 
To  cheer  his  path  through  life's  dark  day; 
Hope's  blossoms  like  the  early  dew 
Once  passed  away,  naught  can  renew. 

Still  I  live  on,  and  oft,  at  eve 

My  isolated  cot  I  leave; 

Thence  to  this  lonely  nook  I  hie 
To  take  a  glance  at  days  gone  by. 

Each  blue  wave  hast'ning  to  its  goal 

(Fit  type  of  the  immortal  soul) 
In  thrilling  accents  seems  to  say 
Thou'rt  nearing  fast  life's' closing  day; 

Thou  soon  wilt  reach  thy  better  home, 

The  home  wrhere  changes  never  come. 


THE    SNOW    STORM.  27 


THE  SNOW  STORM. 

Gentle  as  a  maiden's  dream, 
Softly  as  the  gliding  stream, 

Falls  the  glittering,  sparkling  snow. 
With  its  wealth  of  crystal  pearls — 
Shining,  pure-white  coronals, 
With  its  robe  of  silvery  sheen, 
Decking  earth  like  virgin  queen. 

As  the  noiseless  flakes  descend, 
As  they  downward  quickly  tend, 
Floating  waves  of  downy  snow. 
Garnered  from  the  upper  realms; 
Harvested  by  unknown  hands, 
Culled  from  cloudland's  brightest  bower, 
Sent  to  earth  as  richest  dower. 

Symbol  pure,  and  emblem  sweet! 
Type  of  purity!    'twere  meet 

That  many  swell  the  strain  attuned. 
Clad  with  garb  like  angels  wear — 
Robed  in  heaven's  holiest  gear — 
Pure,  white  snow,  I  welcome  thee, 
Hymning  lays  of  minstrelsy. 


28  MAIDEN    AND    RIVER 

MAIDEN  AND  RIVER. 

MAIDEN — River,  why  in  ceaseless  flow 
Must  you  ripple  to  and  fro  ? 

Stop  a  while. 

Lonely  on  thy  bank  I  stand, 
On  your  shining,  pebbly  strand, 
Canst  thou  not  a  moment  stay 
Through  the  long,  long  summer  day? 

Stop  a  while. 

RIVER Child  of  earth  dost  thou  not  know 

Ne'er  can  cease  my  endless  flow? 

I  must  go. 

Onward  till  I  reach  my  outlet, 
Out  beyond  the  golden  sunset, 
Seek  not  then  to  stay  my  flowing, 
Onward  still  I  must  be  going 

To  my  goal. 

MAIDEN — River,  when  the  storms  are  raging, 
Wind  and  rain  a  warfare  waging, 

Do  you  fear? 

When  thy  waves  with  whitened  crest, 
Toss  around  in  wild  unrest, 
Doth  thy  bosom  shake  with  fear, 
Trembling,  lest  thy  end  is  near  ? 
Say,  O!   say. 


MAIDEN    AND    RIVER.  29 

RIVER — Child,  my  race  will  ne'er  be  run 
Not  till  yonder  blazing  sun 

Fades  away. 

Look  t' wards  the  horizon's  crest, 
See  the  mighty  Ocean's  breast, 
Now  its  billowy  waves  are  still, 
He  who  says  it  is  My  will, 
Keepeth  me. 

MAIDEN —River,  should' st  thou  chance  to  see, 
On  thy  journey  through  the  lea, 

Snow  white  sail  ? 
Reaching  out  towards  the  clouds, 
Quivering  with  its  massive  shrouds, 
Touch  it  gently  with  thy  arms, 
Shield  it  safe  from  rude  alarms, 

It  is  mine. 

RIVER — Child  of  earth  hast  thou  not  heard  ? 
That  He  knows  of  beast  and  bird 

Every  hair, 

Can  He  not  then  bring  to  tliee 
Safe  from  o'er  the  murmuring  sea. 
Mortal  child  O!  ne'er  despair, 
"Ship  ahoy! "may  greet  thy  ear, 

Soon,  ay  soon. 

MAIDEN — River,  then  glide  sweetly  on, 
Till  thy  goal  is  safely  won, 

Till  at  "last 
3 


30  CHICAGO    EXPOSITION    ODE. 

Thou  dost  hear  like  thunder  roar, 
Breaking  from  the  golden  shore, 
Awful  words  from  sacred  lore, 
Time  for  thee  shall  be  no  more. 
River,  farewell. 


CHICAGO  EXPOSITION  ODE. 

Columbia,  all  hail  ! 

May  thy  banner  ne'er  be  furled 
Till  Liberty,  with  her  beauteous  rays, 

Enlighten  all  the  world. 
Columbia,  to  thee 

Erom  every  clime  we  come, 
To  lay  our  trophies  at  thy  feet — 

Our  sunbright,  glorious  home. 


'Twas  a  lovely  autumn  morn. 

And  the  leaves  were  turning  red, 
And  the  sturdy  oaks  and  graceful  pines 

Their  branches  over-spread; 
And  the  breezes  softly  swept 

The  hills  and  valleys  o'er; 
And  the  dew-kissed  earth  with  incense  sweet, 

Crowned  forest,  grove  and  flower. 


CHICAGO    EXPOSITION    ODE.  31 

On  a  grassy  knoll  near  by 

Where  the  rustling  leaves  were  piled, 
Knelt  a  mighty  chief  of  a  mighty  tribe, 

And  his  band  of  warriors  wild. 
For  the  rising  sun  had  shown 

To  the  trained  eyes  of  that  band, 
That. vessels  three,  like  white-winged  birds, 

Were  steering  straight  for  land. 

Whence  comes  this  stranger  fleet  ? 

Whence  hails  this  Pale  Face  crew? 
And  the  chieftain's  brow  was  wrapped  in  pain 

As  his  tomahawk  he  drew. 
Then,  with  quivering  voice,  he  said 

Some  evil  may  betide; 
From  the  land  of  the  sky  this  host  lias  come — 

Let's  haste  to  the  river  side. 

And  the  warriors  started  forth 

Like  fawns  through  the  forest  trees; 
When  lo!   what  a  wondrous,  solemn  sight— 

"Pale  Faces"  on  tl*eir  knees! 
I^efore  the  Holy  Cross, 

Each  with  uncovered  brow, 
Prayed  the  mighty  God,  that  His  blessings  e'er 

Might  this  fair  land  endow. 

And  the  stalwart  braves — awe-struck — , 

With  heads  bowed  low  on  breast 
As  the  veteran  sailor  proudly  cried 

San  Salvador,  the  blest! 


34  STARS    AND    STRIPES. 

' '  Cast  down  your  bucket, ' '  let  it  be 
As  water  flows  both  full  and  free! 
Let  charity,  that  twice  blest  boon 
Thy  watchword  be  from  night  to  morn. 
Let  kindness  as  the  dew  distil 
To  friend  and  foe,  alike,  good  will; 
Till  sounds  the  wondrous  battle-call. 
For  all  one  flag,  one  flag  for  all. 


STAES  AKD  STKIPES. 

Hail  Flag  of  the  Union!    Hail  Flag  of  the  free! 
That  floateth  so  proudly  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea 
Thy  Stars  and  thy  Stripes,  in  grandeur  doth  wave 
O'er  hearts  that  are  true  and  hands  that  are  brave. 

When  first  thy  bright  pennant  was  lifted  on  high, 
When  first  'twas  unfolded  to  patriot's  eye; 
The  ovation  that  greeted  thee,  rose  through  the  air 
Like  incense  from  altars  of  hearts  true  and  dear. 

Hail  Flag  of  our  country,  when  thrown  to  the  breeze 
Thy  power  is  acknowledged,  far  over  the  seas. 
Thy  influence  so  boundless,  that  none  may  deny, 
Thy  potency  reaches  all  lands,  'iieath  the  sky. 

Should  war  like  a  dark  cloud,  encircle  our  land, 
With  its  threatening  besom  o'ershadow  the  main. 
With  head  lifted  high,  thou  would' st  laugh  them  to 

scorn 
Who  from  thy  tall  flagstaff  would  try  to  pull  down. 


TO    THE    EAGLE.  35 

Long,  long  may  thy  Stripes  and  thy  Stars  proudly  wave 
O'er  hearts  that  are  true  and  hands  that  are  brave, 
And  ne'er  may  thy  children,  resign  to  the  foe 
The  Flag  that  was  baptized,  in  blood  long  ago. 


TO  THE  EAGLE. 

Fain  would  I  rival  thee 

Monarch  of  birds 
Soaring  so  loftily 

Up  to  the  clouds! 
Spreading  thy  pinions 

And  mounting  on  air, 
Ethereally  floating 

Divinely  and  fair. 

Where  is  thy  resting  place? 

Where  dost  thou  dwell? 
Is  the  mountain  thy  home 

Or  the  stern  rock  thy  cell? 
Dost  thou  live  in  the  desert? 

Is  the  forest  thy  lair? 
O,  where  is  thy  resting  place? 

Eagle,  say  where? 

Always  tending  upward 

May  this  be  my  aim; 
KVer  swerving  from  duty 
Or  shrinking  from  pain. 


36  THE    CRUCIFIXION. 

'Tis  thus  would  I  rival  thee 
Monarch  of  birds, 

When  soaring  loftily 
Up  to  the  clouds. 


THE  CKUCIFIXIOK 

Why  did  the  sun  his  beams  conceal 
As  if  unwilling  to  reveal 
That  deed  of  mankind  on  the  day 
When  Jesus,  at  the  altar,  lay 
A  willing  sacrifice. 

Earth,  too,  in  terror  shook,  when  He 
The  Mighty,  died  on  Calvary; 
When  for  our  sins  He  bowed  His  head,        „ 
Gave  up  the  ghost,  and  quickly  sped 
To  regions  of  the  dead. 

And  some  who  had  for  ages  long 
Been  wrapped  in  slumber  deep  and  strong, 
Awoke,  and  by  their  converse  showed 
That  death  no  more  dominion  had 
In  that  He  died. 

Why  did  He  die?     Ah!   blissful  thought, 
When  we  near  death  and  hell  were  brought, 
He  left  His  Father's  courts  above — 
O,  list  to  such  amazing  love — 
And  died  to  save. 


URANNE.  37 

Why  did  He  die?     'Twas  love  divine 
That  caused  Him  all  things  to  resign — 
A  heavenly  choir,  celestial  home, 
Exalted  seat,  seraphic  song, 
And  all  to  save. 

Blest  thought!   He  reigns  victorious  now. 
To  whom  all  earth  will  shortly  bow, 
Let  men  below  arid  saints  above 
Wonder  at  such  stupendous  love, 
As  caused  their  God  to  die. 


URANNE. 

In  a  far  off  hamlet  near  the  sea 
Where  billows  oft,  in  days  of  storm,  and 
Nights  of  darkness  rush  reckless  to  the  shore; 
Where  tall,  white  cliffs  like  watchmen  keep 
A  life-long  vigil;  Oft  when  the  morning 
Sunbeams  gild  their  lofty  peaks  they  seem 
Like  massive  crystal  vases  adorned  with 
Rays  of  gold.  * 

Hard-by  those  snowy  cliffs, 
Shielded  safe  from  cutting  winds  and  icy 
Blasts,  stood  an  humble,  unpretending  cot, 
Its  low,  thatched  roof  of  matted  moss 
Glimmered,  when  the  morning  sun  brightened 
Up  the  valley,  and  cast  its  rays  aslant  through 


38  URANNE. 

The  tiny  windows  ignorant  of  glass.     Its  well- 
Scrubbed  floor  shone  like  polished  wood; 
And  all  around  an  air  of  quiet,  peace  and 
Love,  prevailed. 

Within  that  cosy  nest,  there 
Dwelt  three  loving  hearts,  Nay,  four,  for  on  the 
Very  morn  when  Christmas  bells  were 
Hinging  o'er  the  land,  When  children  of  the  rich 
And  children  of  the  poor  alike,  were  talking 
Of  the  Christ-child,  and  his  day,  Unto  them  a 
Child  was  given,  And  this  lovely  babe,  blest  Christmas 
Gift, — was  richly  prized.     E'en  now  she  knew  her 
Father's  voice,  and  leaped  with  joy  at  his  return. 


But  ah!   the  cry  of  war,  broke  o'er  the  land.      Cruel 
War,  that  rends  the  households  and  the  hearts; 
That  makes  fond  bosoms  bleed;    and  waters  all 
The  sod  with  tears,  Salty,  agonizing  tears,  which, 
When  they  dry,  leave  furrows  never  healing.  -- 
Sorrows,  never  ceasing. 

The  mandate  came.— 

Marco  must  go.     What!    leave  the  dear  ones  all 
Alone.      The  gray-haired  sire  sunning  himself 
Without  the  cottage  door?     The  little  wife  in 
Blooming  womanhood?     The  cherub  who  in 
Human  form  had  come  to  bless  his  home? 


URANNE.  39 

Must  lie  leave  his  treasures  and  away  to 
Distant  shores,  perchance,  lay  down  to  die  ? 
O !  the  thought  was  death  itself.      Yet  go  he 
Must.     Each  day  he'd  wander  through  the  glade, 
Where  every  blade  and  tuft  of  grass  was  dear, 
So  dear.     All  his  life  from  babe  to  manhood, 
Here  was  spent.      Here  he  grew,  and  loved, 
And  wedded.      Here  the  precious  Mother  in  her 
Green  old  age  had  yielded  to  the  sharp  scythe 
Of  the  Eeaper  Death.      Could  he  leave  her? 

The  day  of 

Parting  came.      The  sun  was  high  when  Marco 
Kose.      The  cheery  little  table  decked  with  snowy 
Cloth  was  laid.      Out  from  their  frugal  hoard 
Came  every  dainty  Uranne  could  find. 
Naught  was  too  good  for  him.      The  dear,  the 
Faithful !     He  who  had  done  all  in  human  power 
To  make  her  life  joyous.      Truly,  she  said,  as  tears 
Lingered  in  her  eyes,  ' '  My  lines  in  pleasant  places 
Have  been  cast. ' ' 

Well  long  they  tarried  o'er  that 
Meal.      It  seemed  as  though  'twould  never  end, 
And  yet  they  were  not  eating.      At  last  the  babe 
Stretched  forth  its  chubby  hands  and  with 
Infantile  speech,  broke  up  the  silent  meal. 

Marco  arose,— 
Father,  adieu.      Take  care  of  these  as  best  thou 


40  URANNE. 

Can' st.      I  know  the  load  is  much  too  great  for 
Thee.     Whose  silvery  hairs  are  whitening  o'er  with 


Do  all  thou  can'st  and  leave  the  rest  to  ''Him 
Who  notes  when  e'en  the  sparrows  fall." 

And  now,  Uranne!  truest  and  best,  I  can 

Not  give  thee  any  more  my  heart,  for  thou  had'st 

It  all  long  ago.      Thy  love  to  me  has  been  like 

Silver  lining  'mid  the  clouds  of  life. 

Has  opened  up  my  heart  to  kindlier  feelings 

For  all  who  on  this  earth  have  naught  to  cheer, 

To  solace  them  in  hours  like  these. 

But  time  doth 

Fly.      Whether  the  moments  teem  with  joy  or 
Flit  in  sorrow.      So  Marco  said,  e're  yet  I  go, 
Take  this  bunch  of  half -blown  buds  and  place 
Upon  your  breast,  near  your  heart,  and  wear 
Them  till  I  come.     Let  naught  divide  'twixt 
Thee  and  them.      'Mid  summer's  glow  or  winter's 
Cold,  loved  one,  wear  them  next  thy  heart. 
Their  very  name,  Forget-Me-Not,  will  'mind 
Thee  of  thy  lover-husband. 

•::-  #  x  vs-  vf  #  *  * 

Days,  weeks, 

Months  passed  by.     No  tidings  yet  had 
Come  to  them,  in  that  lone  village  by  the  sea, 
Ofttimes  the  sire  would  hand -in-hand  take 


URANNE.  ttl 

Baby  for  a  walk  "by  the  sad,  sea  waves"- 
Tlieri  would  the  little  one  pick  up  shells 
And  moss,  and  lisp  so  sweetly  with 
Infantile  grace,  that  the  aged  form  would 
Straighten  up,  as  if  once  more  the  fires  of  youth 
Burned  brightly  in  his  veins;    and  his  old 
Bereaved  heart  would  leap  for  joy. 

Alas!   when  early 

Spring  had  come,  and  the  little  snowdrops 
Gleamed  in  the  valley,  little  Bright-eyes 
Faded  and  was  laid  beneath  them. 
O !  then  the  sun  went  down  in  blackness  grim, 
And  the  whole  world  seemed  devoid  of  life; 
Not  worth  living,  the  old  man  cried.      And 
Then  he,  too,  alas!  was  laid  beside  the  babe. 

All  through  the  long-, 

Long  summer  lonely  Uranne  dwelt.      Her  heart 
Low  down  beneath  the  Daisies.      Uranne,  the 
Pride  of  him  who  now,  alas !   was  no  more.   Perchance 
He  too  was  sleeping  in  that  far-off  land, 
Without  a  kindly  hand  to  smooth  his  aching 
Brow,  or  wipe  from  his  cheeks  the  damp 
Death  dews. 

One  morning  when  the  dew 
Had  not  yet  left  the  sodden  grass, 
She  left  the  cot  to  look  for  her  beloved. 


42  UKANNE. 

She  sat  her  down  'mid  the  dingy  rocks,  which 
Girt  the  shore.      The  little  ripples  kissed  her  feet 
Caressingly.      Long  she  looked  for  a  white  sail, 
To  greet  her  tired  eyes. 

Marco,  dost  hear  Uranne's 
Call?     Wilt  thou  no  more  return?     My  heart  is 
Breaking  with  its  load.     No  longer  can  I  wait,— 
But  list!   I'll  wThisper  in  thine  ear,— 
The  bine  ' '  Forget-Me  Nots, 
The  swreet  Forget  Me  Nots"  which  thou 
Did'st  place  upon  my  breast.      Thou  wilt  see  them 
When  thou  com'st.      None  shall  them  remove. 
Sweetheart,  I  keep  them  till  you  come. 

There  they  found  her  cold 
And  stark.     With  hand  pressed  close  to  heart 
Where  lay  her  flowers.      The  sounding  sea  seemed 
To  forget  to  hurl  its  billows  'gainst  the  beach 
Now  white  and  shining.      E'en  the  little  ripples 
Seemed  to  say,  Uranne!    And  the  great 
Mountain  rocks  would  echo  back,  Uranne! 

Years  went  by.      The  war,  the 
Cruel  war  was  at  an  end.      And  Peace  with 
Flowing  mantle  had  overspread  the  land;— 
With  anxious  heart,  but  willing  feet,  the 
Soldier  started  for  his  dear  old  cabin  nestled 
So  snugly  in  the  valley.     Would  he  find  them  all? 


URANNE.  43 

The  dear  old  sire  with  his  silvered  hair — Perchance 
He  had  lain  him  down  to  sleep,  beside  the  wife 
Who  had  left  him  in  his  prime. 

But  she,  the  dear 

Uranne,  she  was  there,  no  doubt  of  that.     A  stronger, 
Healthier  lass  ne'er  spun  the  dance. 
Then  the  baby,  our  baby.      How  she  must  have 
Grown.      Wonder  if  she  remembers  me,  her  own  dear 
Sire?     Who  oft  would  soothe  and  rock  to  sleep. 
O  yes;    Uranne  has  taught  her  to  love  and  lisp 
My  name. 

When  the  proud  vessel  dropped  her 
Anchor  in  the  Bay,  no  prouder  man,  nor 
Hopeful,  than  was  Marco.      Lightly  he  sprang 
Ashore.      He  looked  to  right,  to  left,  no  sign  of 
His  loved  ones  cheered  his  gaze. 
Uranne,  he  cried,  What!   no  welcome  for  Marco? 
~No  outstretched  arms  to  fold  me  in  love's  embrace? 
He  tottered  to  the  cot  all  overgrown  with 
Weeds  and  trailing  vines.      O!   stars  above  write 
On  hardest  stone.  Desolate,  forlorn — alone. 

Unconsciously  he  moved  along  the  lane 
That  led  to  the  old  church-yard.      The  little 
Tuneful  bell  that  had  pealed  so  joyously 
On  his  marriage  eve,  was  silent  now. 
He  saw  no  one,  nor  questions  asked.      But 
Slowly  crept  to  where  three  mounds  were 


44  MAGNOLIA. 

liaised  all  side  by  side.     He  closely  scanned 

Them  all,  when  lo!  upon  the  longest  grave, 

A  beauteous  tuft  of  blue  Forget-Me-Nots — 

Aha!  lie  cried,  my  bright,  my  blue  Forget-Me-Nots! 

My  flowers  which  I  placed  upon  her  breast, 
And  bid  her  wear  till  we  should  meet  again, 
My  faithful  one.      The  seeds  matured  on  thy 
Dear  bosom,  nourished  by  thine  own  mortality, 
Pushed  their  way  to  the  sunlight  of  earth,     To 
Cheer  and  to  'mind  of  faithful  love, 
Love  which  lasts  even  after  the  gates  of 
Death  are  passed.      Then  he  wailed  the  whole 
Day  long:    Come,  ()!  come!  Uranne,  come! 
Like  my  flowers,  leave  your  bed,  too  dark  too 
Drear  for  thee.      Uranne,  come  to  me! 
Or  I  will  come  to  thee! 

There  they  found  him,  there  they  laid  him, 
With  his  flowers  and  Uranne. 


MAGNOLIA. 

Magnolia !   ' '  Pale  city  of  the  dead, ' ' 
Adown  thy  gravelled  walks  I  tread, 
Thy  marble  pillars  looming  high, 
Thy  polished  shafts  around  me  lie. 


MAGNOLIA.  45 

"With  soft,  mild  rajs,  the  winter  sun 
Thy  tortuous  pathways  doth  illume, 
The  weeping-willow  droops  its  head, 
To  crown  the  k'City  of  the  Dead.1' 

On  every  side  death's  tracks  I  see, 
His  footsteps  grim  encompass  me, 
The  high-born  here,  the  lowly  there, 
The  proud  man  there,  the  humble  here. 
The  rich  has  left  his  golden  hoard, 
~No  more  he  sits  at  festive  board, 
He  could  not  bribe  relentless  death, 
With  all  his  garnered  stores  of  wealth. 

Here  lies  a  maiden  spotless  fair, 
Whose  claim  on  life  for  many  a  year 
Seemed  sure.    But  the  grim  Reaper  smiled, 
And  bending,  Claimed  her  for  his  child. 
So  lovingly  they  made  her  bed. 
And  tenderly  these  garlands  spread, 
Bright  emblems  of  a  stricken  flower, 
~Now  blooming  in  a  sunnier  bower. 

And  here  an.  infant's  grave  I  see, 
Ere  sin  could  stain  its  purity, 
It  plumed  its  wings  and  upward  soared, 
To  live  forever  with  its  God. 
Though  fair  the  earth,  it  would  not  stay, 
Much  fairer  still  the  land  away, 
Restrain  me  not,  for  I  would  go 
Where  crystal  fountains  endless  flow. 
4 


46  MAGNOLIA. 

With  slow,  sad  steps  I  press  me  on 
To  a  majestic  tower  of  stone, 
That  tells  me  they  who  sleep  around 
Had  for  their  country's  weal  laid  down 
Their  lives.      Ah!   many  a  widowed  heart 
Hath  bent  and  broke  with  sorrow's  dart, 
For  him  who  now  beneath  the  sod, 
Yielded  his  spirit  to  his  God. 

And  many  a  youth  with  trappings  gay, 
'Mid  martial  music  liveliest,  lay, 
'No  more  in  life  returned  to  bless 
Their  loved  ones  with  a  fond  caress, 
But  laid  them  down  to  their  last  sleep 
In  stranger  land.     Now  angels  keep 
A  loving  vigil  o'er  each  grave, 
And  bending  branches  o'er  them  wave. 

City  of  Shadows!  fondly  keep 
The  loved  who  in  thy  bosom  sleep, 
Shielded  from  every  earthly  care, 
They  rest  secure  and  free  from  fear. 
Let  grasses  green  and  flow' rets  bright, 
Always  illume  thy  paths  with  light, 
Till  from  the  heavens  loud  and  clear, 
Resounds  the  invitation  dear, 
"Come  up  and  meet  me  in  the  air, 
My  people. ' ' 


TO    MY    MOTHER.  47 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

I  took  up  the  burden  of  life  anew 

When  she,  the  pure-hearted,  died; 
When  the  golden  cord  was  rent  in  twain, 

And  she  faded  from  my  side. 
When  the  eyes  grew  dim  that  were  wont  to  glow 

With  the  holy  light  of  love, 
And  the  spirit,  freed  from  earthly  care, 

Sped  to  its  rest  above. 

Oh,  the  dreary  days!   Oh,  the  weary  nights! 

Oh,  the  anguish,  who  can  tell? 
When  the  light  of  my  life  went  swiftly  out, 

And  the  shadow  athwart  me  fell. 
For  the  wound  was  deep,  and  the  woe  was  great, 

And  its  poignancy  will  blight 
All  the  onward  course  of  my  future  years, 

Till  my  faith  be  turned  to  sight. 

I  muse  me  now  of  the  beautiful  days, 

The  halcyon  days  of  yore; 
And  wonder  if  e'er  on  life's  stormy  sea 

Such  days  I  shall  ever  see  more. 
The  sky  is  as  blue-tinted  now  as  then, 

And  the  sunlight  just  as  bright; 
But  they  gladden  me  not  as  in  other  days 

Ere  she  faded  from  my  sight. 


48  NESTLE    DOWN    COTTAGE. 

The  clouds  with  their  purple  and  amber  hues — 

Their  gossamer  robes  of  snow— 
And  the  stars  at  the  quiet  twilight  hour 

In  calm,  clear  beauty  glow. 
And  music  sweet  as  ^Eolian  harp 

Is  echoing  far  and  wide — 
But,  sure,  naught  gladdens  my  heart  as  before 

She  faded  away  from  my  side. 

(),  Mother!   in  anguish  I  peer  through  the  mists 

Of  a  future,  so  dark  without  thee; 
The  desert  of  life  hath  truly  been  blessed 

With  an  oasis  sacred  to  thee. 
And  oft  to  this  green  spot  of  beauty  I  turn, 

My  shrine  of  affection,  my  pride; 
For,  surely,  naught  gladdens  my  heart  as  before 

Thou  fadedst  away  from  my  side. 


ISTESTLE-DOW^  COTTAGE. 

As  I  sit  by  the  ruddy  oak  fire, 

And  feel  the  grateful  glow, 
Come  mem'ries  sweet  of  a  rustic  cot, 

That  stood  near  the  pebbly  shore. 

With  its  porch  so  bright  and  sunny, 

Where  the  children  loved  to  play, 
With  the  sounding  shells,  from  the  sandy  beach, 

All  through  the  summer's  day. 


Where,  where  are  the  blessed  little  ones 

Whose  childish  voices  sweet, 
Who  made  the  sunny  porch  resound 

With  the  patter  of  little  feet? 

One  where  the  South  Seas  wildly  break, 

And  dash  on  the  gleaming  sand, 
Has  made  him  a  home  'mid  strangers, 

Far,  far  from  his  native  land. 

Another,  the  sweetest  and  dearest, 
Has  long  'neath  the  daisies  been  laid, 

O!  dark  as  a  pall  was  the  hour 

When  they  whispered  my  darling  was  dead. 

The  cottage  still  stands  by  the  sea  shore, 
Our  sunny,  bright  ^  Nestle -Down  " 

But  we  ask  so  sadly  where,  O !  where 
Are  the  little  children  gone? 


MOTHER'S  RECALL. 

Come  back  to  me,  O  ye,  my  children ; 
Come  back  to  the  home  as  of  yore ; 

As  my  longing  eye  peers  through  the  vista  of  years, 
(.•dines  the  heart-throbbing  more  and  more. 

I  sit  by  the  casement  and  listen 

To  the  fall  of  the  soft,  sobbing  rain, 

E'en  the  winds  gently  sigh  as  if  loth  to  reply- 
In  vain,  fond  mother,  in  vain. 


50  MOTHER'S  RECALL. 

Are  ye  gone  for  aye?     Shall  I  no  more  hear 

The  ring  and  the  din  of  glee  ? 
Have  my  nestlings  flown  and  left  me  alone  ? 

Shall  their  faces,  I  no  more  see  ? 
I  sit,  and  I  wait  while  the  days  go  by, 

And  the  months  merge  slow  into  years; 
Till  the  twilight  deep  and  the  mystic  sleep, 

And  the  hopes  give  place  to  fears. 

When  the  Christmas  chimes  with  its  holy  rhymes 

Ring  out  o'er  the  frosty  plain, 
Then  I  sit,  and  sigh  for  the  "Sweet  bye  and  bye" 

But  the  answer  comes,  "Mother  in  vain." 
Each  one  of  us,  children,  have  gone  forth 

To  fight  out  life's  battles  alone; 
And  the  future  must  prove  if  your  labor  of  love, 

Has,  like  bread  on  the  waters,  been  thrown. 

So  the  twilight  comes — and  the  fire  burns  low — 

And  the  day  is  ebbing  fast — 
Soon  the  merry  chimes  and  the  hallowed  rhymes 

Will  be  numbered  with  the  Past. 
But  with  hopeful  eyes  I'll  scan  the  skies, 

Perchance,  ere  next  Christmas-tide, 
Will  my  children  come  to  their  own  dear  home, 

And  their  place  at  mother's  side. 


DEDICATION.  51 

DEDICATED 
TO  THE   EIGHT   KEV'D  D.  A.   PAYNE. 

Oli!   surely  'tis  a  theme  sublime 

That  stirs  my  soul  to-day; 
Awake  then,  muse  nor  slumber  more, 

Till  sung  the  wondrous  lay. 
My  song  shall  be  of  one,  whose  youth 

And  strength  were  freely  given 
To  elevate,  instruct,  and  lead 

Benighted  souls  to  heaven. 

My  song  shall  be  of  him,  whose  hand 

A  mother's  taste  did  mould; 
Whose  precepts  noble  were  to  her 

As  apples  of  pure  gold. 
I'll  tell  of  one  whose  virtues  rare 

In  modesty  enshrined; 
Who  bears  a  lasting  laurel  wreath 

About  his  brow  entwined. 

Who  in  the  days  that  tried  men's  souls 

Did  ne'er  from  duty  quail, 
But  wrought  on  ensign,  lifted  high, 

There's  no  such  word  as  fail! 
Mem'ries  so  sweet  are  ho v' ring  round, 

That  I,  with  Psalmist,  say 
"O!   had  I  wings  like  turtle  dove, 

Quickly  I'd  flyaway!" 


52  OCTOBER. 

Away,  away  beyond  the  hills 

Where  blooms  the  tree  of  life, 
Where  limpid  streams  whose  silent  flow, 

Ne'er  stir  the  sea  of  strife. 
Oh!   Bishop,  Pastor,  Friend,  may'st  thou 

To  green  old  age  be  spared; 
Then,  like  a  fully  ripened  ear 

Go  to  thv  rich  reward. 


OCTOBEK. 

Bright  and  beautiful  art  thou, 
Autumn  flowers  crown  thy  brow, 
Golden -rod  and  Aster  blue, 
Russet  leaf  with  crimson  hue. 
Half  stripped  branches  waving  by, 
Softly  as  a  lullaby, 
Tell  of  summer's  days  gone  by,  • 
Tell  that  winter's  very  nigh. 

In  the  forest  cool  and  chill, 
Sadly  moans  the  Whippoorwill, 
Not  as  in  the  summer  days, 
When  he  gloried  in  his  lays, 
Lower-toned,  but  sweet  and  clear, 
Like  thy  crisp  and  fragrant  air, 
Warbling  forth  with  voice  sublime, 
This  is  nature's  harvest  time. 


THE    DYING    GIRL.  53 

Crickets  chirp  amid  the  leaves, 
Squirrels  hop  among  the  trees, 
Brown  nuts  falling  thick  and  fast, 
On  the  dewy,  dying  grass, 
Glowing  sun  with  softer  rays, 
Harbinger  of  wintry  days. 
Tell  the  year  is  going  by, 
Sighing  forth  its  lullaby. 


THE  DYING  GIEL. 

Sister  darling,  ope  the  window,  let  the  balmy  air  once 

more 
Fan  my  flushed  and  throbbing  brow  as  in  the  happy 

days  of  yore; 

I  would  gaze  again  in  rapture  on  the  brightly  setting  sun 
For  I  know,  my  gentle  sister,  that  the  goal  is  almost 

won. 

See  the  crimson  clouds  are  hov'riiig  round  the  glorious 
orb  of  day, 

And  the  far-off  hills  are  basking  in  its  golden,  gar- 
nished ray ; 

Listen  to  yon  forest  warbler  hymning  sweet  and  joy- 
ous lay, 

Chanting  forth  its  evening  vespers  to  the  sinking  god 
of  day. 


54  THE    DYING    GIRL. 

But  sister,  time  is  waning,  after  all  it  doth  but  seem 
That  life  is  but  a  toilsome  march,  a  weariness,  a  dream ; 
And  yet  I  do  not  murmur,  for  if  all  the  joys  of  earth 
Had  not  faded  from  my  vision  ere  they  ripened  into 
birth, 

If  the  shadows  had  not  thickened  as  they  clustered 

round  my  brow, 
Had  1  not  turned  from  the  altar,  where  I  worshipped 

long  ago, 
Perchance  I  might  have  reveled  full  too  deep  in  human 

love, 
And  forgotten  God,  my  Maker,  and  my  happy  home 

above. 

So  'tis  well,  and  now  I'm  going  to  join  that  spirit  band, 
With   their   never-ceasing  music,    making  glad  that 

starry  land; 
And  I'm  glad  too,  for  I'm  weary,  and  would  rest  me 

from  my  woe — 
Pain  would  land  my  stricken  spirit  on  the  banks  of 

"Evermore." 

And  O !   my  dearly  loved  one,  when  sorrows  round 

thee  press, 
Hurling  each  deadly  missile  on  thy  pure  and  youthful 

breast — 
Then  think  upon  thy  dear  one,  O!   may   ne'er  thy 

footsteps  rove!  [above. 

But  meet   me,  surely   meet  me,  in  that  happy  home 


ALASKA.  55 


Night's  shades  hung  o'er  the  valleys  and  obscured  the 

forest  green— 
'Twas  o'er;    that  happy  spirit  had  been  robed  in  spot- 

less sheen, 
So  they  laid  her  'inong  the  flowers,  and  the  zephyr's 

tuneful  play 
Resounds  a  woodland  requiem  at  the  sunset  of  each 

day. 

ALASKA. 

With  thy  rugged,  ice-girt  shore, 
Draped  in  everlasting  snow, 

Thou'rt  entlironed  a  queen. 
Crown  of  moss  and  lichen  grey, 
Frosted  o'er  with  ocean  spray. 
All  thy  long,  long  wintry  day, 

Dark  and  stern  thy  mien. 

From  the  cloudland  fresh  and  fair, 
Falls  the  snow  through  crispy  air, 

Mantling  vale  and  hill. 
Then  old  "Borealis"  glows, 
With  his  fiery  light  that  shows, 
Frozen  nature  in  repose, 

River,  stream  and  rill. 

On  thy  north  the  Polar  Sea 
Thunders  forth  in  wild  melee, 


56  ALASKA. 

'Mid  gorges  dark  and  steep. 
Full  many  a  ship  with  noble  crew, 
Lies  low  beneath  thy  waters  blue, 
Nor  left  behind  a  single  clew, 

But  sleep  a  dreamless  sleep. 

Beside  the  far  famed  Yukon  stands 
Hundreds  of  men  from  distant  lands, 

All  with  the  same  desire. 
Gold,  gold's  the  watchword,  yellow  ore, 
That  tempts  him  from  his  homestead  door, 
And  Oh!   alas  he  nevermore 

May  sit  by  household  fire. 

Ah!   if  men  would  only  toil, 
Dig  and  delve  their  own  rich  soil, 

With  vigor  and  with  vim; 
Forth  would  spring  the  golden  corn, 
Loud  would  ring  the  harvest  song, 
Life  and  health  they  would  prolong, 

All  through  nature's  prime. 

Under  his  own,  his  fruitful  vine, 
Beneath  his  laden  fig  tree  green, 

He,  like  a  king,  would  reign. 
Bending  low  with  purple  yield, 
Rivalling  fair  Eschkol's  fields, 
He'd  a  potent  influence  wield, 

With  his  corn  and  wine. 


ON    PARTING    WITH    A    FRIEND.  57" 


ON  PASTING  WITH  A  FRIEND. 

Can  I  forget  thee?     No,  while  mem'ry  lasts, 
Thine  image  like  a  talisman  entwined, 

Around  my  heart  by  sacred  friendship's  ties 

Remains  unchanged,  in  love,  pure  love,  enshrined. 

Can  I  forget  thee  ?     Childhood's  happy  hours 

Would  like  some  flitting  phantom  mock  and  jeer; 

Life's  sunny  hours,  would  quickly  lose  their  charm, 
If  Lethe's  slumbrous  waves  but  touched  me  there. 

Can  I  forget  thee  ?     'T,is  a  sad,  sad  thought, 

That  friend  from  friend  should  thus   be   ruthless 
riven— 

But  list,  methinks,  a  sweet  voice  whispers  low, 
Remember,  no  adieus  are  spoke  in  heaven. 

Can  I  forget  thee  ?     No,  though  ocean's  waves 
May  madly  leap  and  foam  'twixt  you  and  me, 

Still  o'er  my  stricken  heart  this  yearning  will  remain, 
Nor  time  estrange  my  love,  dear  one,  from  thee. 

And  though  on  earth  again  we  never  more  may  meet, 
In  that  bright  Elysian  where  spirits,  holy,  dwell, 

May  we  in  concert  with  that  transported  throng, 
Unite,  ne'er  more  (rapt  thought)  to  say  "farewell  !' 


58  TWILIGHT    MUSINGS. 

TWILIGHT  MUSINGS. 

I'm  sitting  by  the  hearthstone  now, 

And  my  heart  is  lone  and  drear; 
It  seems  as  though  the  autumn  blast 

Had  left  its  impress  there.  • 
As  memory,  backward,  wends  its  way, 

Unfolding  to  my  gaze 
Those  joyful  hours  of  "Auld  Lang  Syne,' 

Those  lights  of  by- gone  days. 

I'm  musing  on  the  past,  when  I 

In  childhood's  thoughtless  play, 
Keveled  in  gladness,  joy  and  mirth, 

Nor  deemed  one  saddening  ray 
Should  ever  cloud  my  gladsome  heart, 

Or  cause  deep  sorrow's  moan — 
Ne'er  dreaming  of  the  time,  alas! 

When  I'd  be  quite  alone. 

I've  listened  to  the  morning's  song 

Of  nature's  feathered  gems, 
Long  ere  Aurora's  roseate  hue 

Illumined  Orient's  realms, 
And  as  their  carols  wafted  high 

On  balmy  zephyrs  borne, 
'Tis  then  I  muse,  and  sadly  feel, 

That  I  am  quite  alone. 


SONG    TO    ERIN.  59 

I've  never  heard  the  ocean's  roar, 

Or  felt  its  quivering  thrill; 
Nor,  on  stern  Neptune's  bosom  been, 

When  all  was  calm  and  still- 
But  o'er  my  heart,  at  times,  there  are 

Such  stormy  billows  borne, 
That  then  I  sadly,  truly  feel, 

That  I  am  quite  alone. 


SONG  TO  ERIN. 

Oli!   Erin  my  country,  my  ancestor's  home! 
Impelled  by  my  wants,  I,  from  thee,  had  to  roam; 
And  now  my  heart  yearn^th,  sore  longeth  for  thee 
My  dear  native  Ireland,  my  "gem  of  the  sea." 

Oh!   Erin  my  country,  thou  land  of  the  brave  ! 
Who'll  rescue  from  tyr'ny,  who'll  ransom  and  save? 
Thy  despots  so  strong,  are  still  wielding  their  power, 
To  bind  thee  in  slavery  both  now  and  forever. 

Speak!   speak!   who  will  rescue  our  Emerald  Isle? 
Now  bowed  by  the  oppressor  in  servitude  vile! 
Her  sons  are  all  scattered,  her  daughters  are  gone, 
And  she  is  left  desolate,  forlorn  and  alone. 

I'll  sigh  for  thee  Erin,  when  spring  winds  doth  fan, 
With  musical  breathings,  this  far  distant  land; 
'Twill  remind  me  of  youth's  happy  days  on  thy  shore — 
Of   days,  mournful  thought,  I  shall  never  see  more. 


60  THE    VALENTINE. 

I'll  weep  for  thee  Erin,  as  the  blue  waters  surge, 
Shall  re-echo  my  wailing,  shall  chant  the  sad  dirge; 
Of  Ireland  in  slavery,  once  land  of  the  free; 
Of  Ireland,  my  country,  my  "gem  of  the  sea." 


THE  VALENTINE. 

Lady  with  thine  eyes  of  beauty 

llivaling  cerulean  flowers, 
Where  the  love -beams  seem  to  linger, 

Throughout  youth's  bright,  sunny  hours. 

With  thy  smile  of  witching  sweetness 

Like  the  magnet's  mystic  art, 
Charming  oft  enchanting  oft'ner, 

Drawing  to  thee  every  heart. 

But,  fair  lady,  I'll  no  longer 
Linger  thus  o'er  nature's  mould, 

7Tis  thy  spirit's  beauty  charms  me, 
More  than  mines  of  Peru's  gold. 

Like  an  exile  who  hath  wandered 
Far  from  kindred  and  from  home, 

Pants  and  longs  once  more  to  greet  them, 
Never  more  on  earth  to  roam;— 

Like  the  tempest-tossed,  the  weary, 
Who  of  earth  ne'er  had  their  part, 

Eain  would  land  their  stricken  spirits 
Where  heart  answers  unto  heart; — 


LINES    TO    FLORENCE.  61 

So  tliis  bosom  when  o'erflowing 

With  some  latent,  deadly  grief, 
Loves  to  revel  in  the  music 

Of  thy  voice  to  find  relief. 

And  when  joys  do  hover  'round  me, 
Weaving  chaplets  rich  and  bright, 

I'd  away  from  pleasures  turn  me 
To  my  beautiful  "Starlight." 

Lady!  could  I  seal  thy  future, 

All  of  bliss  and  love  'twould  be; 
And  when  time  with  us  is  ended, 

Spend  eternity  wth  thee. 


LINES  TO  FLORENCE. 

I  am  sitting  sad  and  lonely 

Where  I've  often  sat  before, 
And  I  am  musing,  fondly  musing 

Of  my  Florence  who  pass'd  o'er. 
Pass'd  into  the  realms  supernal, 

Far  'bove  cloud-lands  lofty  height; 
Yonder  'mid  the  fields  Elysian, 

Dwells  my  "Flor"  'inoiig  saints  of  light. 

'Twas  when  autumn  leaves  were  falling, 
'Twas  when  harvest  days  had  come, 

That,  King  Death,  the  mighty  reaper, 
Came  to  take  my  darling  home. 
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"BY  THE  RIVERS  OF  BABYLOX." THE    PEN.  63 


•  BY  THE  RIVERS  OF  BABYLON." 

By  the  Rivers  of  Babylon  we  mournfully  bent, 
With  "harps  on  the  willows"  and  vesture  all  rent. 
For  burdened  by  sorrow  and  saddened  by  pain. 
AVe  felt  that  we  no  more  could  strike  them  again. 

This,  this  is  a  strange  land,  we  will  not  then  sing 
One  song  uf  our  Zion.  the  home  of  our  King, 
Xo  rather  let  right  hand  its  cunning  forget. 
Than  we  to  our  loved  home  H£  recreants  act. 

O!  City  of  God,  though  as  captives  we  go, 
Jerusalem's  weal  we'll  never  forego, 
O!  soon  may  the  exiles  of  Israel  return. 
To  sing  Zion's  songs  in  their  own  holy  land. 


THE  PEN. 

Mightier  than  the  sword  thou  art, 
Thou  can '*>t  pierce  like  venomed  dart. 
Time  and  space  count  naught  with  thee. 
Leagues  of  land  or  leagues  of  sea. 

Thou  can'st  waves  of  passion  calm. 
Griefs  assuage  like  Gilead's  balm. 
Bring  sweet  pleasure  to  the  eye, 
Give  sweet  gladness  for  the  sigh. 


64  THE    PEN. 

When  thy  little  point  is  prest, 
Oft  it  wounds  some  gentle  breast, 
Filling  chalice  to  the  brim, 
Darkening  life  with  sorrows  grim. 

Learned  sage  in  days  gone  by, 
Scanned  thee  witli  prophetic  eye, 
Said  to  myriads  then  unborn 
Thou  would 'st  rule  on  many  a  throne. 

Swords  may  stab  with  savage  ire, 
Glistening  out  like  rays  of  fire, 
They  can  ne'er  thy  power  attain, 
O'er  the  sea  or  o'er  the  main. 

Mightier  than  the  sword  art  thou, 
Lo!   on  many  a  regal  broiv 
Furrows  which  thy  point  has  wrought, 
Troubles  which  thy  w^ork  has  brought. 

Mightier  than  the  sword  art  thou, 
List!   a  maid  records  her  vow, 
That  so  long  as  life  shall  last, 
Ne'er  a  doubt  shall  love  o'ercast 

Naught  of  bliss  or  naught  of  woe, 
But  thou  can'st  on  man  bestow, 
With  thy  tiny  pointed  prow, 
Mightier  than  the  sword  art  thou. 


PASSING    OF    THE    OLD    YEAR.  65 


PASSING  OF  THE  OLD  YEAR. 

Ah!   the  year  is  slowly  dying, 
And  the  wind  in  tree -top  sighing, 

Chant  his  requiem. 
Thick  and  fast  the  leaves  are  falling, 
High  in  air  wild  birds  are  calling, 

Nature's  solemn  hymn. 

In  the  deep,  dark  forest  lingers. 
Imprints  of  his  icy  fingers, 

Chill,  and  dark,  and  cold. 
And  the  little  streamlets  flowing, 
Wintry  sun  so  softly  glowing, 

Through  the  maple's  gold. 

So,  Old  Year,  gird  on  your  armor, 
Let  not  age,  nor  fear,  nor  favor, 

Hurry  you  along. 
List!  the  farewell  echoes  pealing, 
List!   the  midnight  hour  is  stealing, 

Hark!   thy  dying  song. 

Say,  Old  Year,  ere  yet  your  death  knell 
Kings  from  out  yon  distant  church  bell, 

Say,  what  have  you  done  ? 
Tell  of  hearts  you've  sadly  broken, 
Tell  of  love  dead  and  unspoken, 

Ere  your  course  is  run. 


66  PASSING    OF    THE    OLD    YEAR. 

Tell  the  mother  who  doth  languish, 
O'er  her  graves  in  silent  anguish, 

She  will  see  again, 

Blooming  bright  ' '  beyond  the  river, ' ' 
Living  on  for  aye  and  ever, 

Every  bright-eyed  gem. 

Ah!  full  many  a  spirit  weary, 

You  have  wooed  from  paths  so  dreary, 

Wafted  them  above. 
Now  they  say  Old  Year,  we  bless  thee, 
Raise  thy  head,  we  would  caress  thee 

For  this  home  of  love. 

On  thy  brow  lies  many  a  furrow, 
And  thy  eyes  tell  many  a  sorrow 

Ha1h  its  shadow  cast. 
But  thy  task  is  almost  ended, 
Soon  the  path  which  thou  hast  wended, 

Will  be  called  the  "Past." 

Then,  odd  dying  year  we  hold  thee, 
To  our  hearts  we  fondly  fold  thee, 

Ere  the  midnight  bell. 
Soon  thy  race  will  now  be  ended, 
With  Eternity  be  blended, 

So,  Old  Year,  farewell. 


SONNET    TO    MY    FIRST    BORN.  67 


SONNET  TO  MY  FIKST  BOKN. 

Oh!   waves  in  the  sunlight  gleaming. 

Oh!  billows  with  ceaseless  roar, 
Bring  back  to  this  aching  heart  of  mine. 

The  laddie  yon  bore  long  ago. 
Far  out  011  on  your  restless  bosom, 

Far  away  from  his  boy-hood's  home, 
I  charge  you  waves  of  the  deep,  blue  sea 

To  bid  my  wanderer  come. 

Oh!   stars  in  the  heavens  twinkling 

Like  lamps  hung  up  in  the  sky, 
Oh!   moon  look  down  through  the  darkness, 

His  try  sting -place  you  may  descry. 
Then  tell  him  a  fond  heart  is  aching, 

In  love  for  the  dear  one  she  bore, 
Oh!   surely  to  thee  he  will  hearken, 

And  haste  to  his  own  cottage  door. 

The  winds  of  the  autumn  are  sighing, 

The  leaves  from  the  trees  falling  fast, 
The  roses  that  erstwhile  \vere  blooming, 

Say  mournfully — Summer  is  past. 
The  daisies  have  long  ago  slumbered, 

Their  blossoms  I  search  for  in  vain ; 
But  surely  for  thee  I  will  look,  love, 

Ere  spring  time  brings  them  again. 


68  LINES. 

• 

When  the  Frost-King's  robe  is  glistening 

O'er  hill,  and  valley,  and  glen, 
When  the  bright  sleigh-bells  are  jingling, 

I  know  he'll  come  to  me  then. 
So  sunlight,  or  starlight,  or  moonlight. 

Wherever  my  truant  you  see, 
Just  tell  him  you  left  me  a- waiting 

Far  over  the  deep  blue  sea. 


LINES  TO 


O  come  to  me  in  my  dreams  love! 

When  the  world  is  wrapped  in  sleep, 
And  the  silver  moon  like  virgin  queen, 

Her  lonely  vigils  keep. 
When  all  is  hushed  in  calm  repose — 

The  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea, 
Then  hasten  love  to  this  far-off  land, 

And  dwell  one  hour  with  me. 

O  come  to  me  in  my  dreams  love! 

And  cheer  me  on  my  way; 
And  bid  me  look  to  a  higher  land 

For  the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day. 
Then  breathe  to  heaven  an  earnest  prayer 

To  bless,  ere  you  depart, 
With  perfect  love  and  childlike  faith, 

This  sad,  despondent  heart. 


HIGHLAND    MARY.  69 

O,  do  not  forget  to  come,  love, 

But  on  rosy  pinions  haste, 
And  deluge  my  willing  ear,  with 

Mementoes  of  the  past. 
And  tell  me,  too,  of  that  distant  land, 

Its  sunshine  and  its  flowers; 
And  in  return  my  strain  shall  be 

Magnolia's  bright  bowers. 

Ah,  do  not  fail  to  come  love, 

For  I'll  woo  my  slumber  to-night; 
I'll  lay  me  down  to  sweet  repose, 

And  wait  for  thec  and  light. 
Then  hie  to  my  bower  on  wings  of  love, 

Ah,  linger  not  by  the  way, 
But  solace  this  heart  and  bid  it  hope, 

For  the  dawn  of  a  brighter  day. 


HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Will  you  leave  the  hills  of  Scotland  ? 

Your  childhood's  happy  home, 
To  brave  the  dangers  of  the  deep, 

In  foreign  lands  to  roam- 
Say,  Mary,  will  you,  for  my  sake 

Leave  yonder  joyous  cot — 
Your  youthful  friends  and  scenes  so 

To  share  a  soldier's  lot  ? 


70  THE    CHEROKEE. 

The  battle's  din,  my  Mary, 

Has  never  met  thine  ear, 
The  woodlands'  songsters  melody 

Is  all  that  thou  dost  hear. 
The  vivid  flash  of  musketry — 

The  cannon's  thundering  roar 
Must  meet  thine  eye,  burst  on  thine  ear 

Sounds  never  heard  before. 

And  now,  fond  one,  I've  told  you  all, 

And  I  can  say  no  more — 
i 'Will  you  go  to  the  Indies,  my  Mary, 

And  leave  old  Scotia's  shore  ?  " 


THE  CHEROKEE. 

7Twas  a  cloudless  morn  and  the  sun  shone  bright, 

And  dewdrops  sparkled  clear; 
And  the  hills  and  the  vales  of  this  Western  land 

Were  wreathed  with  garlands  rare. 
For  verdant  spring  with  her  emerald  robe 

Had  decked  the  forest  trees; 
Whilst  e'er  and  anon  the  vine-clad  boughs 

Waved  in  the  playful  breeze. 

All,  all  was  still,  not  a  sound  was  heard. 

Save  the  music  of  each  tree, 
As  gracefully  it  bent  and  bowed 

Its  branches  o'er  the  lea. 


THE    CHEROKEE.  7 

But  hark!   a  sound,  'tis  the  Red  man's  tread, 

Breaks  on  the  silent  air ; 
And  a  sturdy  warrior  issues  forth. 

Robed  in  his  native  gear. 

And  wandering  on,  he  neared  the  brook; 

Then  sat  him  down  to  rest; 
'Twas  a  noble  sight — that  warrior  free — 

That  Monarch  of  the  West. 
He  gazed  around,  O!  a  wistful  gaze 

Saddened  his  upturned  brow, 
As  he  thought  of  those  he'd  fondly  loved, 

Of  those  now  laid  so  low. 

He  mused  aloud  ' '  Great  Spirit  !  ' '  list 

To  the  Indian's  earnest  plea; 
And  tell  me  why,  from  his  own  loved  home, 

Must  the  Indian  driven  be. 
When  the  "Pale  Face"  came  to  our  genial  clime, 

We  wondered  and  were  glad; 
Then  hied  us  to  our  chieftain's  lodge, 

Our  noble  "Flying  Cloud." 

We  told  him  all,  and  he  calmly  said 

He'd  gladly  give  them  place; 
And  if  friends  they  proved,  perchance,  extend 

The  calumet  of  peace. 
But  soon,  alas!  the  dread  truth  rang 

That  the  Pale  Face  was  our  foe; 
For  he  made  our  warriors  bite  the  dust— 

Our  children  lie  so  low. 


72  RALLY    SONG. 

So  now,  my  own,  dear,  sunny  land, 

Each  woodland  and  each  dell, 
Once  the  Indian's  home,  now  the  Indian's  grave, 

I  bid  a  last  farewell. 
To  the  "Great  Spirit's"  hunting-ground, 

To  meet  my  long-lost  bride, 
My  ' '  Raven  Wing' '  I  gladly  hie — 

He  said,  then  calmly  died. 


RALLY  S01STG. 

Come,  let  us  join  this  festal  lay- 
Hurra,  Hurra, 

Come,  let  us  join  this  festal  lay, 
And  let  our  anthems  all  be  gay, 
And  sing  aloud  for  this  glad  day 
Should  brighten  every  heart:— 

We'll  sing  of  heroes  who  have  fought — 

Hurra,  Hurra, 

We'll  sing  of  heroes  who  have  fought, 
Who  to  their  country's  altar  brought, 
And  on  her  sacred  ensign  wrought, 

The  tree  of  liberty, 


SERENADE.  73 

We'll  sing  of  martyrs  who  have  died— 

Hurra,  Hurra, 

We'll  sing  of  martyrs  who  have  died, 
From  severed  ranks,  as  side  by  side 
They  bravely  stemmed  the  gory  tide. 

To  ransom  brother  man. 

Our  glorious  banner's  now  unfurled— 

Hurra,  Hurra, 

Our  glorious  banner's  now  unfurled, 
May  it  soon  wave  o'er  all  the  world, 
And  every  traitor  standard  hurled 

From  pinnacle  to  earth. 

With  gifted  leaders  in  our  van- 
Hurra,  Hurra, 

With  gifted  leaders  in  our  van, 
The  bright  and  noblest  of  our  land, 
Let  patriots  shout,  as,  hand  in  hand, 
They  welcome  this  glad  day. 


SEKE1SADE. 

Sleep,  love  sleep, 

The  night  winds  sigh, 

In  soft  lullaby. 

The  Lark  is  at  rest 

With  the  dew  on  her  breast. 


74  THE    COMING    WOMAN. 

So  close  those  dear  eyes, 
That  borrowed  their  hue 
From  the  heavens  so  blue, 
.Sleep,  love  sleep. 

Sleep,  love  sleep, 
The  pale  moon  looks  down 
On  the  valleys  around, 
The  Glow  Moth  is  flying, 
Th  South  wind  is  sighing, 
And  I  am  low  lying, 
With  lute  deftly  strung, 
To  pour  out  my  song, 
Sleep,  love  sleep 


THE  COMING  WOMAN. 

Just  look,  'tis  a  quarter  past  six,  love — 

And  not  even  the  fires  are  caught; 
Well,  you  knoAV  I  must  be  at  the  office — 

But,  as  usual,  the  breakfast  '11  be  late. 

Now  hurry  and  wake  up  the  children; 

And  dress  them  as  fast  as  you  can ; 
"Poor  dearies,"  I  know  they'll  be  tardy, 

Dear  me,  ' '  what  a  slowT,  poky  man  !  ' : 

Have  the  tenderloin  broiled  nice  and  juicy- 
Have  the  toast  browned  and  buttered  all  right; 

And  be  sure  you  settle  the  coffee: 
Be  sure  that  the  silver  is  bright. 


ODK    TO    PEACE.  75 

"When  ready,  just  run  up  and  call  me — 

At  eight,  to  the  office  I  go, 
Lest  poverty,  grim,  should  o'er  take  us — 

"  'Tis  bread  and  butter,"  you  know. 

The  bottom  from  stocks  may  fall  out, 

My  bonds  may  get  below  par ; 
Then  surely,  I  seldom  could  spare  you 

A  nickel,  to  buy  a  cigar. 

All  ready?    Xow,  while  I  am  eating, 
Just  bring  up  my  wheel  to  the  door; 

Then  wash  up  the  dishes;  jmd,  mind  now, 
Have  dinner  promptly  at  four; 

For  to-night  is  our  Woman's  Convention, 
And  I  am  to  speak  first,  you  know— 

The  men  veto  us  in  private, 

But  in  public  they  shout,  "That's  so." 

So  "by-by"  — In  case  of  a  rap,  love, 

Before  opening  the  door,  you  must  look; 

O !  how  could  a  civilized  woman 
Exist,  without  a  man  cook. 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 

Come  Peace,  on  snowy  pinions, 
Come,  nestle  like  a  dove; 

Encircle  earth's  dominions 
With  harmony  and  love. 


74  THE    COMING    WOMAN. 

So  close  those  dear  eyes, 
That  borrowed  their  hue 
From  the  heavens  so  blue, 
.Sleep,  love  sleep. 

Sleep,  love  sleep, 
The  pale  moon  looks  down 
On  the  valleys  around, 
The  Glow  Moth  is  flying, 
Th  South  wind  is  sighing, 
And  I  am  low  lying, 
With  lute  deftly  strung, 
To  pour  out  my  song, 
Sleep,  love  sleep 

THE  COMING  WOMAN. 

Just  look,  'tis  a  quarter  past  six,  love — 
And  not  even  the  fiies  are  caught; 

Well,  you  know  I  must  be  at  the  office — 
But,  as  usual,  the  breakfast  '11  be  late. 

Now  hurry  and  wake  up  the  children ; 

And  dress  them  as  fast  as  you  can; 
''Poor  dearies,''  I  know  they'll  be  tardy, 

Dear  me,  "what  a  slow,  poky  man  !  ': 

Have  the  tenderloin  broiled  nice  and  juicy- 
Have  the  toast  browned  and  buttered  all  right; 

And  be  sure  you  settle  the  coffee: 
Be  sure  that  the  silver  is  bright. 


ODE    TO    PEACE.  75 

When  ready,  just  run  up  and  call  me — 

At  eight,  to  the  office  I  go, 
Lest  poverty,  grim,  should  o'ertake  us — 

"  'Tis  bread  and  butter,'5  you  know. 

The  bottom  from  stocks  may  fall  out, 

•«/ 

My  bonds  may  get  below  par; 
Then  surely,  I  seldom  could  spare  you 
A  nickel,  to  buy  a  cigar. 

All  ready?    Now,  while  I  am  eating, 
Just  bring  up  my  wheel  to  the  door; 

Then  wash  up  the  dishes;  and,  mind  now, 
Have  dinner  promptly  at  four; 

For  to-night  is  our  Woman's  Convention, 
And  I  am  to  speak  first,  you  know — 

The  men  veto  us  in  private, 

But  in  public  they  shout,  "That's  so." 

So  "by- by  "—In  case  of  a  rap,  love, 

Before  opening  the  door,  you  must  look; 

()!  how  could  a  civilized  woman 
Exist,  without  a  man  cook. 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 

Come  Peace,  on  snowy  pinions, 
Come,  nestle  like  a  dove; 

Encircle  earth's  dominions 
With  harmony  and  love. 


76  ODE    TO    PEACE. 

Let  anger,  pride  and  malice, 
And  strife  forgotten  lie; 

Nor  from  their  venomed  chalice, 
Quaff  more  bitter  draughts  and  die. 

Come  Peace,  with  arms  extended, 
Come,  brood  o'er  this  fair  land; 

Let  battle  scenes  be  ended, 

And  heart  be  joined  with  hand. 

Let  fields  now  crimsoned  over, 
With  the  life-blood  of  the  brave, 

Loom  as  monuments  of  warning, 

o" 

Shine,  as  beacon  lights  to  save. 

Come  Peace,  a  welcome  waits  thee, 

From  many  a  stricken  life; 
And  many  a  heart-crushed  mourner, 

Now  weary  of  the  strife; 
Methinks  e'en  now  a  footfall 

Breaks  like  music  on  my  ear, 
As  the  distant  sound  of  gladness, 

When  'tis  borne  on  summer's  air. 


May  the  echoes  prove  prophetic; 

May  thy  murmurs  from  afar 
Shed  a  radiance  as  refulgent, 

Beam  as  bright  as  Bethlehem's  Star. 


A    REVERIE.  77 

And  the  hearts  that  have  been  riven, 

And  the  bosoms  that  have  bled, 
Soon  will  change  their  griefs  to  gladness, 

Yield  to  God  and  earth  their  dead. 


A  KEYEEIE. 

You  may  speak  of  a  grave  in  a  distant  land, 

Or  of  one  'neath  ocean's  foam, 
Where  the  dolphins  play  o'er  the  sunny  spray, 

Far  from  the  dear  old  home; 
"Where  the  coral  peaks  form  a  glorious  tomb, 

And  the  mighty  waters  lave, 
But  there  is  naught  in  the  wide  world  sought 

Like  the  heart's  deep  anguished  grave. 

You  may  tell  of  a  grave  'neath  the  burning  sands 

Of  the  tropics  fevered  zone; 
Where  silence  reigns  o'er  the  desert  plains 

So  desolate,  so  forlorn. 
Where  the  lion's  roar  is  the  liveliest  sound 

That  o'er  that  waste  is  heard— 
And  the  forest  bird  hymns  a  plaintive  lay, 

A  requiem  for  the  dead. 

Again  you  may  tell  of  a  grave  unsought 

Far  from  the  home  of  youth  ; 
Where  the  willow  weeps  as  the  exile  sleeps 

Akin  to  Mother  Earth. 
6 


78  SUNSET. 


But  O!  methinks,  there's  not  a  woe 

That  can  the  bosom  cleave, 
Or  as  deeply  wound,  as  the  lowly  mound 

O'er  the  heart's  deep,  anguished  grave. 

SUNSET. 

All  hail  !  thou  gorgeous  sunset, 
With  thy  gold  and  purple  clouds, 

Tinting  the  vast  horizon, 

Like  shadowy,  fleecy  shrouds. 

The  mountain  crests  are  glowing, 
The  hills  are  crimson  dyed, 

The  very  air  seems  blushing, 
Bathed  in  thy  amber  tide. 

Soon  the  twilight  shadows  falling 
"Will  thy  glory  chase  away, 

And  weary  man  will  welcome 
The  closing  of  the  day. 

Then  the  moon  in  silvery  brightness, 
Will  show  her  pale,  sad  face; 

And  the  stars  as  her  attendants, 
Will  stud  infinite  space. 

Low  down  amid  the  valley 

Soon  we'll  hear  the  night-bird's  song, 
Calling  softly  to  the  south  wind, 

That  the  day  of  toil  is  done. 


THE    PAST.  79 


Then  hail  !  thou  glorious  sunset, 
Who  in  fullness  can  portray 

The  varied,  wondrous  beauty 
Of  a  summer's  sunset  day. 


THE  PAST. 

The  Past  it  is  fraught  with  many  a  feeling 
Of  pleasure,  of  sadness,  of  joy,  and  of  pain ; 

And  'tis  sweet  of  an  eve  when  dewdrops  are  falling, 
To  reflect  on  the  days  that  can  ne'er  come  again. 

The  Past,  it  is  pleasant  !   Ah,  memory  recalls 
The  period  of  childhood,  when  joyous  and  free, 

With  innocence  crowned,  in  purity  robed, 
We  revelled  in  gladness  and  sported  in  glee. 

The  Past,  it  is  saddening  !  full  many  a  loved  one 
That  joined  in  each  pleasure,  partook  of  each  pain, 

Have  passed  on  before,  to  the  spirit  land  flown, 
And  left  us  below,  till  their  prize  we  attain. 

The  Past's  irrevocable  !   every  word  we've  spoken, 
Or  action  committed,  been  stamp' d  with  its  seal 

Immortal,  enduring,  'twill  stand  sure  forever, 
As  no  time  can  eiface,  nor  effulgence  reveal. 

Then,  then,  should  the  Present  be  valued  and  used 
As  a  boon  from  the  Author  and  Giver  of  gifts; 

That  so,  when  'tis  past,  we  could  always  enjoy 
The  pleasant  assurance  of  its  being  well  spent. 


80  MARRIAGE. FOR    WHO? 

MAKRIAGE. 

The  die  is  cast,  come  weal,  come  woe, 

Two  lives  are  joined  together, 
For  better  or  for  worse,  the  link 

Which  naught  but  death  can  sever. 
The  die  is  cast,  come  grief,  come  joy. 

Corne  richer,  or  come  poorer, 
If  love  but  binds  the  mystic  tie, 

Blest  is  the  bridal  hour. 


FOE  WHO? 

When  the  heavens  with  stars  are  gleaming 

Like  a  diadem  of  light, 
And  the  moon's  pale  rays  are  streaming, 

Decking  earth  with  radiance  bright; 
When  the  autumn's  winds  are  sighing, 

O'er  the  hill  and  o'er  the  lea, 
When  the  summer  time  is  dying, 

Wanderer,  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

When  thy  life  is  crowned  with  gladne  s. 

And  thy  home  with  love  is  blest, 
Not  one  brow  o'ercast  with  sadness, 

Not  one  bosom  of  unrest — 
When  at  eventide  reclining, 

At  thy  hearthstone  gay  and  free. 
Think  of  one  whose  life  is  pining, 

Breathe  thou,  love,  a  prayer  for  me. 


JUNE.  81 

Should  dark  sorrows  make  tliee  languish, 

Cause  thy  cheek  to  lose  its  hue, 
In  the  hour  of  deepest  anguish, 

Darling,  then  I'll  grieve  with  you. 
Though  the  night  be  dark  and  dreary, 

And  it  seemeth  long  to  thee, 
I  would  whisper,  ' '  be  not  weary ; ' ' 

I  would  pray  love,  then,  for  thee. 

Well  I  know  that  in  the  future, 

I  may  cherish  naught  of  earth; 
Well  I  know  that  love  needs  nurture, 

And  it  is  of  heavenly  birth. 
But  though  ocean  waves  may  seA^er 

I  from  thee,  and  thee  from  me, 
Still  this  constant  heart  will  never, 

Never  cease  to  think  of  thee. 


JUNE. 

I  anl  the  month  when  roses 
Bloom  brightest  o'er  the  glade, 

I  am  the  month  when  marriages 
Most  happily  are  made. 

Mine  is  the  time  of  foliage, 
When  hills  arid  valleys  teem 

With  buds  and  vines  sweet  scented, 
All  clothed  in  glowing  green. 


82  JUNE. 

My  riiglits  are  bright  and  starry, 
My  days  are  long  and  clear 

And  truly  I'm  the  fairest, 
Of  all  months  in  the  year. 

With  night  dews  gently  falling, 
With  bees  upon  the  wing, 

And  tiny  rills  soft  rippling 
Amid  the  valleys  sing. 

The  farmer  with  his  ploughshare, 
Swift  turning  up  the  sod, 

His  brawny  arms  at  labor, 
His  soul  with  Nature's  God. 

The  Lark  with  sweetest  carol, 
Doth  greet  the  rising  sun, 

The  Mock-bird  at  the  even, 
Loud  whistles  day  is  done. 

O  !   I'm  the  month  of  beauty, 
The  summer's  crown  I  claim-, 

Now  whisper  to  me  softly, 
And  tell  me  what's  my  name. 


TRIBUTE    TO    A    LOST    STEAMER.  83 

TKIBUTE  TO  A -LOST  STEAMEE. 

O  !   sing  je  a  dirge  for  the  loved  and  the  lost, 

That  have  found  them  a  home  'neatli  the  coral  reefs 

deep; 
That  have  laid  them  to  rest  'neath  the  murmuring 

surge. 

Where  the  whistling  wind  wails  o'er  their  sweet, 
but  sad  sleep. 

They  have  gone  to  their  horn/1 — their  last  resting-place 
The  blue  waves  embraced  and  called  them  their  own; 

While  the  depths  of  the  sea  and  the  billows  thereof 
Are  mournfully  sighing  their  sad  requiem. 

Down,  down  through  the  mass  of  the  waters  they  sped, 
Amid  the  dark  chambers  so  mystic,  so  drear; 

'Till  perchance  they  selected  some  ruby-lit  bed, 
To  sleep  their  last  sleep  'mid  jeweled  gems  rare. 

O  !   'tis  sweet  now  to  ponder,  though  many  have  gone 
To  that  far-off  bourne  whence  no  traveller  returns, 

That  the  sea  shall  not  always  their  bodies  retain, 
For  Jehovah  hath  said,  she  must  yield  them  again. 

One  bright  little  jewel  outlived  the  dark  storm, 
So  fatal  to  many,  yet — blissful  to  tell — 

His  "Father  in  heaven"  preserved  him  from  harm, 
O,  parent  rejoice  !  with  your  Louis  'tis  well. 


81  A    REQUIEM. 

A  REQUIEM. 

().  insatiable  monster  !   Could' st  tliou  not 

In  pity  turn  aside  thy  venomed  shaft 

From  her  my  gifted,  darling  friend  ?  ^ 

Has  sympathy  within  thy. breast 

No  trysting  place  ?     That  thou  must  come 

At  spring-time  when  the  flowerets  bloom 

To  bear  my  loved  one  to  the  tomb  ? 

So  young  was  she;  life's  woes  had  not  yet  dimmed 

The  joyous  sunshine  of  her  girlhood's  days; 

She  did  not  quaff  the  dregs  of  time, 

But,.,  like  some  rosebud  prematurely  culled, 

She  sped  away,  and  o'er  her  grave 

So  peacefully  the  willows  wave, 

And  dewdrops,  her  calm  bosom  lave. 

Tread  not  the  earth  where  sleeps  my  loved  one's  form; 

But  place  it  lightly  on  her  marble  brow. 

Bid  birdies  sing  at  set  of  sun 

To  gladden  Fannie 's  lowly  home; 

Bid  rippling  springs  with  shining  spray, 

And  sylvan  nof.es  and  songsters  lay 

Unite,  to  chase  the  gloom  away. 

Blest  child  !   she  did  not  tarry  long,  and  yet,— 
O,  happy  thought — she  did  not  live  in  vain, 
If  truly  she  did  seek  and  find 


THE    GRAFTED    BUD.  85> 

The  ' '  Pearl  of  Price, ' '  that  precious  boon, 
Then  ne'er  to  her  could  come  too  soon 
The  summons  to  an  early  tomb. 

Blest  child,  rest  !  while  gentle  zephyrs  breathe 

Their  fragrance  through  the  waving  trees; 

All  nature  decked  in  gorgeous  array 

Is  reveling  now,  but  soon  alas  ! 

Like  thee,  'twill  fade.      The  autumn's  knell 

Will  ere  long  peal  like  funeral  bell 

Its  dirge  like  sounds,  "Friend,  fare  thee  well." 


THE  GRAFTED  BUD. 

Life's  stormy  surge  had  scarcely  touched 
Her  blooming,  beauteous  brow, 

When  rudely  torn  from  earthly  bliss, 
A  budded,  broken  flower. 

Methinks  I  see  her  brilliant  eye, 
When  smiles  played  softly  there, 

As  gentle  as  the  summer's  breeze, 
So  radiant,  sweet  and  clear. 

But  ah  !  frail  nature  gave  away, 

And  she  was  doomed  to  die, 
So  young  in  years,  so  bright,  so  fair. 

In  the  cold  grave  to  lie. 


86  TO    A    LOVED    ONE. 

So  to  the  realms  of  light  and  life 
Her  uncaged  spirit  fled ; 

There  to  remain  until  the  trump 
Shall  sound  to  wake  the  dead. 

There  with  the  Saviour  &he  abides, 
There  tunes  the  sacred  lyre, 

Regardless  of  th'  impending  day. 
And  dreading  not  its  ire. 


TO  A  LOYED  ONE. 

I'll  think  of  thee,  mine  own,  dear  one 
As  morn's  first  blushing  ray 

Diffuses  light  o'er  the  dim  earth- 
Turns  darkness  into  day. 

I'll  think  of  thee  at  eve,  my  love, 
When  moon  and  star  appear — 

When  in  the  horizon  of  my  hope 
All,  all  is  bright  and  clear. 

I'll  think  of  thee  when  joy  doth  cast 

Its  gladness  o'er  my  heart, 
As  peace,  and  love  and  happiness 

Seem  new  life  to  impart. 

I'll  think  of  thee  when  dark  shades  fall 
Athwart  my  fevered  brow; 

"When  low  in  death  I  hear  thee  lisp — 
"I'm  waiting  for  thee  now." 


THE    NATIVITY.  87 

I'll  think  of  thee,  my  darling  one, 

While  I  have  life  and  breath; 
And  seal  the  assurance  fervently, 

I'll  think  of  thee  in  death. 


THE  NATIVITY. 

The  gloom  of  night  had  overspread  the  land, 
Swaying  its  dread  sceptre  o'er  every  man; 
For  superstition  like  a  monarch  reigned, 
And  Adam's  sons  were  fettered  by  its  chain. 

When  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  came, 
A  Saviour  !   born  to-day  in  Bethlehem; 
Gabriel,  the  news,  the  joyful  news  revealed 
By  night,   to  some  poor  shepherds  in  the  field, 

Go  now  to  Bethlehem,  behold  the  Babe — 
Though  Lord  of  all,  He's  in  a  manger  laid  ! 
Among  the  horned  cattle  there  you'll  find 
The  Prince  of  Peace,  the  Saviour  of  mankind. 

The  Shepherds  then  in  haste  obeyed  his  word, 
Guided  by  flaming  star  to  view  their  Lord; 
They  entered  in,  when,  judge  of  their  surprise- 
An  infant,  a  Redeemer,  burst  upon  their  eyes. 

Amazed,  affrighted,  trembling,  they 
Gazed  on  the  Babe  as  there  He  lay; 
Though  in  a  manger  yet  He  bore 
Hare  tokens  of  Almighty  power. 


88  TO    THE    MOCK  BIRD. 


TO  THE  MOCK-BIRD. 

Bird  of  the  woodland,  sing  me  a  song, 
Fain  would  I  list  to  tliee,  all  the  day  long. 
Out  from  thy  cosy  nest,  'mid  leafy  bower, 
Lift  high  thy  tuneful  voice — 'tis  summer's  hour. 

Bird  of  the  forest,  with  voice  sublime, 
Gladdening  wTith  thy  music  all  summer  time, 
E'en  while  the  Autumn's  winds  bend  low  the  trees, 
Sweetly  still  thy  carols  float  with  the  breeze. 

Queen  of  the  song-realm,  what  doest  thou  ? 
Up  amid  the  leaflets,  rocking  on  the  bough, 
Ah  !  little  trickster,  building  thee  a  nest, 
Cosy,  soft  and  warm,  for  thy  wee  ones  to  rest. 

Bird  of  the  south-land,  haste  thee  and  bring 
Tributes  of  thy  melody,  welcoming  the  spring, 
Say  to  sombre  winter — up  and  away, 
This  my  time  of  minstrelsy,  bright,  sunny  May 


REV.   SAMUEL  WESTOK 

Oh  !  surely  for  thee  were  the  gates  ajar, 

As  thy  chariot  onward  sped. 
When  with  brightened  eye  and  youth  renewed, 

Triumphant  thou  did'st  tread 
Through  the  gates  of  death,  to  the  portals  bright, 

While  the  ransomed  myriads  sing, 
' '  Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  Golden  Gates, ' ' 

Let  the  aged  pilgrim  in. 

No  terrors  for  thee  had  the  darksome  vale, 

For  like  the  wise  virgins  of  old, 

Thou  keep'st  thy  lamp  burning  and  trimmed  from 
thy  youth, 

Till  three-score  and  ten  were  well  told. 
And  oft,  as  a  shepherd,  that  tends  his  flock, 

Thou  did'st  them  to  still  waters  lead, 
And  'mid  the  green  pastures  of  justified  grace, 

Thou  lovedst  thy  children  to  feed. 

Then  Pastor  and  Leader,  fond  Parent,  adieu, 

Till  xhe  last,  grand  trump  shall  sound, 
When  shepherd  and  flock  united  once  more, 
Shall  echo  a  long  harvest  home. 


TO    KEY.    THADDEUS    SALTUS. 


TO  KEY.  THADDEUS  SALTUS. 

Sleep,  Christian  warrior,  sleep, 

Life's  fitful  dream  is  o'er, 
Thy  pain-tossed  bark  is  anchored 

Safe  on  the  golden  shore. 
^Keath  the  green  sward  we  lay  thee 

Thus  early  to  thy  rest, 
And  press  the  sod  thus  lightly, 

Upon  thy  gentle  breast. 

'Though  but  in  manhood's  prime. 

When  the  dread  summons  came, 
To  hush  the  voice  so  well  attuned 

To  preaching  "In  His  Name." 
Thou  did'st  not  murmur,  but  with  joy 

Obeyed  the  Master's  word, 
And  rapture  crowned  did'st  enter 

The  palace  of  thy  Lord. 

'Then  sweetly  sleep,  dear  Kector, 

Thy  grave  we'll  deck  with  flowers, 
An  earnest  of  that  Better  Land 

Of  ever  blooming  bowers. 
Around  this  spot  a  halo  twines, 

While  angels  vigils  keep, 
And  we  rejoice  that  thus  ' '  He  gives 

To  His  beloved  sleep." 


TRIBUTE    TO    CAPT.    F.    W.    DAWSON.  93 

TKIBUTE  TO 
CAPT.  F.  W.   DAWSON. 

Carolina  mourns  to-day.      For  he,  the  gifted 
Bon  of  her  adoption,  is  no  more.      The  voice 
That  stirred  the  bosoms  of  her  sons,  and 
Made  her  ramparts  ring  from  mount  to 
Sea-board,  is  hushed  in  death.      His 
Noble  form,  and  nobler  mien  that 
Never  faltered  'mid  the  cannon's 
Roar,  lies  motionless. 

So  Carolina  weeps.      'Tis  meet  she  should — 
Her  chieftain  lieth  low.      In  this 
Grand,  old  City  by  the  Sea,  this  Venice 
Of  the  Southland.      The  home  he  loved 
So  well.     When  the  grey  morn  breaks, 
And  when  the  twilight  lingers,  they 
Chant  in  low,  sweet  music,  evening 
Vespers  for  his  soul. 

Then,   Carolinians,   build  a  monument  for  him ; 

But  not  011  marble  cold.      Not  on 

Towering  dome  or  polished  shaft, 

Should  his  memory  be  engraved.     But 

In  the  hearts  of  those  he  loved  and 

Served,  should  immortelles,  perpetual,  bloom; 

And  incense,  fragrant,  ever  rise 

To  his  memory. 

Requiescat  in  Pace. 
7 


94  MRS.    LOUISE    B.    WE8TON. 


MRS.  LOUISE  B.  WESTOK 

My  Mother  !  With  the  angels  now, 
Life's  race  completely  run; 

The  Pilgrim's  cross  is  laid  aside, 
The  Christian's  crown  is  won. 

Full  two-score  years  has  thy  frail  bark 

Relentlessly  been  driven, 
Along  the  rugged  shoals  of  time — 

Now  safely  moored  in  heaven. 

Some  vision  bright  of  Eden's  land — 
Some  glimpse  from  Nebo's  crest — 

So  ravished  thy  enraptured  soul, 
Then  panting  for  its  rest, 

That  when  the  City  bathed  in  gold 
Full  burst  upon  your  sight, 

You  would  not  tarry  with  us  more; 
Your  spirit  took  its  flight. 

My  Mother,  when  life's  sands  run  low, 

In  love,  in  kindness  come, 
And  take  the  spirit  of  thy  child, 

And  bid  her  ' '  welcome  home. ' 


LINES    TO    MRS.    ISABEL    PEACE.  95 

LINES  TO   MRS.   ISABEL  PEACE. 

'Tis  said  but  a  name  is  friendship, 

Soulless,  and  shallow,  and  vain; 
That  the  human  heart  ne'er  beats  in  response, 

Or  echoes  sweet  sympathy's  strain. 

But  to-day  in  ''memory's  mirror" 

Came  a  dear  and  honored  one, 
Whom  in  days  gone  by  had  lived  and  had  loved, 

Ere  her  heavenly  goal  was  won. 

Her  countenance  beamed  as  of  yore, 

With  radiant  smiles  of  love, 
And  I  felt  that  the  friendship  she  lavished  me  here, 

Had  ripened  in  heaven  above. 

I  felt  that  her  voice  so  winsome, 

Attuned  to  holier  rhymes, 
Would  in  soft  cadence  tell  of  friendship's  truth, 

Like  harp  of  a  thousand  strings. 

Rise  up  and  call  her  blest  ! 

Ye  children  of  her  love, 
For  a  friendlier  hand  or  a  kindlier  heart 

Ne'er  entered  the  mansions  above. 


ALPHONSE  CAMPBELL  FORDHAM. 

IN  MEMORIAM. 
ALPHONSE  CAMPBELL  FOKDHAM. 

AGED  6  YEARS,  2  MONTHS,  20  DAYS. 

Almost  whose  last  words  were 
"We  shall  meet  beyond  the  River.'' 

Yes,  my  darling,  when  life's  shadows 

Over  me  do  darkly  fall, 
Meet  me  surely  at  the  river 

As  I  haste  to  obey  the  call. 
Gladly  through  the  darksome  valley, 

Through  its  portals,  grim  and  cold, 
Will  I  hasten  'till  my  nestling 

Meets  me  at  the  "Gates  of  Gold/' 

Sadly  do  I  miss  my  wee  one, 

None  can  h'll  thy  vacant  place, 
Only  in  my  dreams  I  fold  thee, 

Only  then  behold  thy  face. 
See  thee  in  thy  childish  beauty, 

Clasp  thy  little  hand  in  mine, 
Ever  will  those  moments  chain  me, 

Ever  in  my  heart  enshrined. 

Little  Heartsease,  i  i  bud  of  promise, ' ' 

Broken  off  in  early  morn, 
Now  can  sin  no  more  pollute  thee 

In  the  angels'  bosom  borne. 


\ 

MR.    EDWARD    FORDHAM. 

In  that  land  no  pain  or  anguish 
Ever  can  my  child  enfold, 

Then  my  darling  meet  thy  mother 
Surely  at  the  "Gates  of  Gold." 


ME.  EDWARD  FORDHAM. 

When  the  Autumn's  breezes 
Were  sweeping  o'er  the  land. 

Came  the  mighty  mandate 
From  the  upper  land. 

Now  from  pain  and  anguish 

Thou  hast  found  relief, 
Passed  through  death's  dark  portal, 

Left  this  world  of  grief. 

Now  thou'rt  safely  anchored 

In  the  port  above, 
Gladly  do  we  offer  thee 

Symbols  of  our  love. 

When  the  welcome  summons 
Shall  echo  through  the  skies, 

Then  our  ransomed  brother 
Will  hear  the  word  "Arise.'* 


I  . 
98  MRS.    JENNKTTE    BONNKAU. 


DEATH    OF  A  GRANDPARENT. 
MES.  JENKETTE  BONNEAU. 

Rest  thee  aged  pilgrim,  now^tliy  toils  are  o'er; 
Peacefully  thou'st  landed  over  Jordan's  shore; 
Safe  from  all  the  sorrows,  free  from  all  the  strifey 
Thou  hast  passed  death's  portals,  entered  into  life. 

Doubtless  thou  wert  weary,  tempest  tossed  so  long; 
Doubtless  thou  wert  longing  to  join  the  happy  throng; 
Doubtless  many  loved  ones  on  the  other  shore. 
Whispered  to  thee  softly  ".Stay  on  earth  no  more.'* 

Whispered  thee,  come  higher,  where  perennial  bloom 
Shall  with  heightened  luster  its  wonted  sway  resume. 
' '  Come  where  peaceful  rivers  quietly  do  flow- 
Hasten  mother,  hasten,  from  that  world  of  woe." 

Then  to  fields  Elysian  she  joyfully  did  soar, 
In  the  blest  land  of  Canaan  to  dwell  forever  more; 
All  through  the  ' '  Golden  City' '  she  happily  doth  roam, 
Oft  wondering  why  she  stay'd  so  long  away  from  home. 

So  'neath  the  bending  willows  we've  laid  thee  down 

to  rest, 

Well  knowing  thou'rt  reposing  secure  on  Jesus'  breast; 
Well  knowing  that  one  day  will  come,  the  welcome 

word  Arise, 
Come  up,  thou  ransomed  mortal,  to  thy  Saviour  in 

the  skies. 


QUEENIE. TO    AN    INFANT.  99 


QUEENIE. 

For  one  brief  day,  did  Queenie  stay 
To  brighten  each  fond  heart, 

Then  sped  like  dove  to  realms  above, 
Ne'er  more  to  feel  death's  dart. 

O  !  in  that  land,  where  infants  stand 

Arrayed  in  spotless  sheen, 
No  griefs  to  share,  nor  sorrows  bear, 

No  death  to  intervene. 

We  would  not  care,  nay,  would  not  dare 

To  wish  thee  back  again, 
Nay,  rather  say,  ' '  Queenie,  good  day, 

Till  we  your  rest  attain. " 


TO  AN  INFANT. 

Just  as  the  twilight's  holy  hour 

In  quietude  so  deep, 
Was  hushing  nature  to  repose, 

Our  "Charlie"  fell  asleep. 

Just  in  the  bloom  of  infancy, 
We  laid  him  to  his  rest, 

Well  knowing  that  our  angel  boy 
Was  numbered  with  the  blest. 


100  SUSAN    EUGENIA    BENNETT. 

Well  knowing  that  the  Saviour  said 
Oh  !   suffer  such  to  come, 

' '  Forbid  them  not, ' '  for  they  are  Mine, 
And  heaven  is  their  home. 

So  bow  we  to  God's  gracious  will, 
For  he  was  lent,  not  given; 

And  let  this  cheer  our  drooping  hearts, 
Our  Charlie  is  in  heaven. 


IN  MEMOKIAM. 
SUSAN  EUGENIA  BENNETT. 

When  the  Sabbath  was  declining,  just  at  twilight's 

mystic  hour, 
Left  the  "Upper  Courts"   an  angel,  sent  to  cull  our 

sweetest  flower, 
Not  in  judgment,  not  in  anger,  did  this  white-winged 

seraph  come, 
But  to  lead  a  little  Pilgrim  through  Death's  Portal  to 

her  home. 

And  our  angel  child  was  ready,   aye,   and  anxious  to 

depart — 
Not  the   slightest  doubt    o'ershadowed  her    trusting 

little  heart; 

But  with  a  brow  as  radiant  as  rainbow  in  the  sky, 
She  whispered  softly  "Mother,  I'm  not  afraid  to  die. " 


MRS.    EEBECCA    WESTON.  101 

When  shall  these  little,  weary  limbs  lie  down  to  sweet 

repose, 
'Mid  the  green,  the  verdant  pastures  where  the  limpid 

water  flows ; 
When  shall  I  the  Golden  City  sparkling  in  its  beauty 

see, 
"When  shall  it  be,  my  Saviour,  O  !   when  shall  I  be 

free?" 

Ere  the  week-day  with  its  labors,  its  duties  and  its 

care — 
Was  ushered  in,  our  darling  was  found  on  earth  no 

where ; 
But   with   the  saints  in   glory,  and  the   Saviour   she 

adored, 
She's  happy  and  at  rest,   for  aye  and  ever  with  the 

Lord . 


MRS.   EEBECCA  WESTON. 

"  For  so  He  givetli  His  beloved  sleep." 
She  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth;— 

Ere  long  will  the  morning  break, 
When  those  we  love  who  sleep  in  Him, 

Shall  from  the  dust  awake. 

She  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth ; — 
Soon,  soon  will  the  ransomed  sing 

O  !   grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
O  !   death,  where  is  thy  sting  ? 


102  MRS.  E.  COHES    BROWN. —  OBITUARY. 

MKS.  E.  COHRS  BROWN. 

Tread  not  the  earth  where  lies  her  youthful  form, 
Grow   violets,    sweet    violets,    above    that    cherished 

mound ; 

Bid  zephyrs  softly  whisper  in  accents  sweet  and  low, 
Not  dead,  not  lost,  but  only  gone  a  little  while  before. 

So,  I,  though  bowed  in  anguish,  yield  her  spirit  to  its 

God, 
And  meekly  clasp  the  smiting  hand,    and   kiss  the 

chast'ning  rod; 
May  I,  when  time  is  over,  greet  thee  on  the  other 

shore, 
To  live  and  love  for  aye  and  aye,  where  partings  are 

no  more. 


MRS.  MARY  FURMAN  WESTON  BYRD. 
OBITUARY. 

BYRD. — "As  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his 
couch  about  him  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams, ' '  thus 
sweetly  passed  from  earth  to  glory,  on  the  morning  of 
the  19th  of  February,  1884,  MRS.  MARY  FURMAN 
WESTON  BYRD,  in  the  92d  year  of  her  age,  leaving  two 
children,  twelve  grand -children,  and  twenty  great - 
grand-children,  to  mourn  her  irreparable  loss. 

"Rising   up    they    call    her    blessed."     Another 


MRS.  MARY  FURMAN  WESTON  RYRD.  103 

i 

ancient  landmark  has  been  gathered  to  her 
Fathers.  With  her  deatli  a  link  is  severed  which 
hound  two  centuries  together.  The  venerable  subject 
of  this  notice  was  born  in  1792,  of  parents  who  were 
both  exiles  from  their  native  land;  one  being  born  in 
Morocco,  Barbary  States,  the  other  in  Marseilles, 
France.  During  her  eventful  life  she  passed  through 
three  wars;  that  of  1812  in  her  girlhood,  after  the 
Mexican  and  the  late  Civil  Wars.  Possessed  of  a 
loving  heart  and  cheerful  disposition,  charity  was  the 
guiding  star  of  her  life.  Her  widow's  mite  was  never 
found  wanting.  In  her  the  distressed  and  the  needy 
met  always  a  ready  response.  She  died  as  she  lived, 
beloved  and  venerated  by  legions  to  whom  her  very 
name  was  a  household  word.  So  then, 

Though  no  blossoms  cluster 

Above  thy  aged  brow, 
Though  winter  winds  are  breathing 

A  requiem  soft  and  low, 
We  look  beyond  earth's  shadows, 

Beyond  death's  misty  plain, 
And  though  we  sadly  miss  thee, 

Will  not  wish  thee  back  again. 

Could  we  but  see  thee,  dear  one, 

In  the  Palace  of  thy  Lord, 
With  thy  robe  of  snowy  whiteness, 

And  with  more  than 'youth  renewed. 


104  MRS.  MARY  FORM  AN  WESTON  BYRD. 

No  more  on  bended  willows 

Would  our  broken  harps  remain, 

Take  us  beauty  for  our  ashes, 
Take  us  gladness  for  our  pain. 


MBS.  MARY  FURMAN  WESTON  BYRO. 

No  more  on  bended  willows 

Would  our  broken  harps  remain, 

Take  us  beauty  for  our  asln-s. 
Take  us  gladness  for  our  pain. 


i 


